#scurry the doomed colony

[bethanydelleman]

Look what finally came in the mail!!! Ava's Demon! (@avasdemon)

So excited to read it (and re-read volume 1)! The artwork is amazing and the story is so original!

I haven't been very active lately and results can vary, but I've found the most amazing graphic novels and comic books on Kickstarter. I started by supporting a project to reprint Canadian comic books from World War II, including Nelvana of the Northern Lights, one of the first female and an Indigenous superheroines:

(Pictured: Mr. Monster, Brok Windsor, Sally the Sleuth, Fashion in Action, and Johnny Canuck, all reprinted historical comic books)

Then I found this amazing series about post-apocalyptic mice, Scurry (I cannot even describe how amazing the artwork is):

And this retold fairy tale painted entirely in watercolour, Blue Eyes & the Beastling:

Just to name a few! I really love well-done graphic novels and I don't find enough on the market. I've found a ton of amazing ones.

#ava's demon #graphic novels #kickstarter #blue eyes and the beastling #nelvana of the northern lights #brok windsor #johnny canuck #fashion in action #scurry #scurry the doomed colony #sally the sleuth #by the way Sally the Sleuth is quite raunchy #her clothes always mysteriously fall off #retold fairy tales

[evolutionsvoid]

The Arimakki threat remains a challenge to contain, as their infectious members continue to find ways to breach any barriers put in their way. They burrow through the earth, scurry across the land and flutter through the air, always foiling the cleansers who seek to keep their horrid presence sealed away. Their numbers are many, their determination indomitable. The Arimakki are committed to spreading their kind and infesting the land. Yet, their behavior seems odd in some places, and one big question was raised when the coastal communities noted their homes being Arimakki free. While the rise of colonies can seem random, it was soon noticed that no hives were springing up along the coast. As investigations went deeper, it was even found that the colonies appeared to avoid major water bodies. Pools of humors and bodily fluids were certainly enjoyed by the Arimakki, yet places of pure water failed to grab their attention. The places alongside the ocean seemed free of the infestation, as none of these parasites ever really ventured in that direction. This soon resulted in the belief that the presence of water warded off Arimakki, and that this would be the element that could keep them at bay. Folks whose lands were consumed by the fever fled to places of water, hoping to be free of the boiling terrors. There was certainly excitement going around at the time, as it seemed like there was now a weapon that could truly contain the infection. That was until stories from the whaling ships started to make landfall, and a new horror was brought to this world. 

Those who hunted leviathans at sea started to report sightings of a strange new creature found in the waters. Something pale and wormy, yet adorned in fleshy plumes like a revolting bird. The tales speak of the sea boiling and hissing as this great beast swam, its vile body exuding a sickening heat. Only after a specimen was killed and hauled to shore, did the world accept this grim truth. The specimen was dubbed "Arimakki Umi," though the sea folk kept to calling it a "Reviliathan." It is a large parasite that worms its way through the ocean, boiling the waters around it with its Feverish Sweat. When it rises to the surface, the sea boils and bubbles. Five hose-like tendrils whip wildly from its head, releasing clouds of this burning sweat that can consume entire ships. When in battle, it writhes and flaps its horrible wings to churn the waters, making it chaos for those floating upon it. Boats that try to bring it down must kill it quickly, as when in trouble, they will breach the surface and flop their immense bodies atop the vessel. Their wings and boiling fluids smother the ship and crew, dooming all aboard to a deadly searing embrace. Some whaling crews have succeeded in slaying these leviathans and have attempted to harvest some kind of reward from its flesh. Oils, blubber and Feverish Sweat is collected in abundance, but nothing is edible. It was found that the oils and fat could be turned into fuel, but tales speak of terrifying nights plagued by nightmares and wild hallucinations whenever someone slept beneath the glow of a Arimakki fueled lantern. The flame that burns is "unnatural" and those who try to see by its light claim to see pale writhing things in the corners of their eyes, and grotesque faces leering from the edge of darkness. In most cases, the Umi are simply killed and left to rot, with the hopes of slaying these beasts before they can spread. 

When news of an ocean dwelling Arimakki became widely known, many feared that it was all over. It wouldn't be long before these leviathans swam to every corner of the globe, spreading their eggs to every continent and land mass. The Vile Red Tree would soon consume this world, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it. Yet, when folks began to take a closer look at these encounters, a strange pattern emerged. 

All reports of an Arimakki Umi sighting always occurred in shallow coastal waters. So far, not a single ship recorded an encounter with them in the open ocean. And these same sightings kept the Umi to very specific waters, with their range seeming oddly small for such a vast area. Information from the Academy and local sea folk points to these very regions as places where the ocean water is the warmest. It seemed like the Umi cared not for the cold ocean water, which seemed to bizarre for an aquatic species. With this new discovery in mind, whaling crews did their own experiments during a hunt and found that Umi weren't just uncomfortable in cold water, but they actually feared it. A ship tried to drive a Reviliathan away from the coast and into the open ocean, and the beast grew frantic and panicked whenever its body felt the bite of a cold current. They thrash and spit, seemingly losing their minds when coming in contact with the cold depths of the sea. The whalers say that the Umi don't live in the coastal waters, they cling to them. The cold dark bowels of the ocean are to avoided, to be feared. They dare not cross the open ocean, lest they wander too far from the comforting warmth of the tropics. So it seems that while these Arimakki can attack and destroy coastal ships, they are not the massive threat as they were once thought to be. They cannot spread their kind, they cannot make more colonies in other lands, because it appears they despise the very water they live in. While it does give hope and relief, it does also raise questions about the Arimakki as a whole. As an "invading force," it seems like an incredible flaw to their design. How are they supposed to spread if they cannot overcome this obvious hurdle? Why does a simple thing like water perplex them so? What is it in the cold darkness that they fear, that drives them deeper into their warm, rotten burrows?

------------------------------------------------

"Arimakki Umi"

Wasn't planning on chucking one of these things into the ocean, but then came across a rather bizarre map monster that I was surprised I hadn't seen before. Like we see plenty of sea boars, odd whales and weird owl faced seal eaters, but this funky fellow? Almost nothin! A crime! It screamed "Arimakki" to me, so thus here we are!

#hara no mushi #monster #creature #parasite #sea monster #leviathan #art #drawing #worm #fall of ichor

[supersumc]

The first day of spring is meant to be a day of joy and rebirth. For our colony, however, it ended in distress, pain, and death.

The late winter rains had called us to build our new homes, and we had built our settlement in two separate domes atop two wooden plateaus. From the top of the domes, you could see the vast bladed forest stretch out before you, slowly growing taller as it absorbed the sun and rain. But that vantage point would soon prove fatal.

Doom came as an immense titan of plastic and steel, roaring slowly on four round legs, with two long legs of cloth and skin supporting its head at the back. It was an abomination of an insect, one that had grown larger than even the legendary beasts from eons ago, one that simply should not be. Before we knew it, our first dome was trapped in a spinning maw that ate the forest around us, sending shards of the long leaves all around us and tearing the dome apart. We scurried to rebuild, but five minutes later our second dome, the one housing our newborn brothers and sisters, was hit as well. Rushing to get them out of reach of any of the immense beasts that sought our demise, we thought the day's troubles were over.

We were wrong.

Two brief sprinklings of snow-white dust hit our domes: one smelling of chalk, the second smelling of sweetness. The first one shredded our bodies, leaving us too weak to work; the second was pure poison, leaving us dying where we stood.

To whatever god is out there, please. Wipe that abominable insect from the earth, and allow us to have our revenge. But alas, we will not be the ones to see it done, for we are broken and dying, and we will not see summer.

#xenofiction #pov #you're an ant who built a couple of mounds on tree stumps in my backyard #and I mowed down your colony with my #lawn mower #and sprinkled #diatomaceous earth #and #ant poison #on the ruins of them #war crimes #baby #war crimes! #that's how we maintain the lawn #writblr #short story

[abugeatbugworld]

A Dumb Question: Part Three

Part One Part Two

“Leave her alone!”

Time stops. A hush engulfs the crowd. Every eye in the room is on Flik.

Only his eyes are fixed on Dot. She’s less than a centimeter from Thumper’s open jaw, her fists balled against her chest and her legs curled inward. If the beast wanted to, he could lunge forward and swallow her whole.

But he doesn’t. Even he seems stunned by the turn of events. By the fact that his master took orders from an ant.

Flik doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Hopper turns toward him, lowering the hand holding Dot so she’s just out of Thumper’s reach. All the air leaves his burning lungs at once.

She’s safe for now.

And then Hopper begins to walk towards him, the expression on his face one that makes Flik feel like a sprout withering in the summer heat. Dot’s eyes dart nervously between the two of them.

The grasshopper is inches away from him now. Flik isn’t sure if he should drop to his knees and plead for mercy or assume a fighting stance. He doesn’t even know what a fighting stance looks like.

Suddenly one of Hopper’s hands clamps around the crown of Dot’s head. He lifts her from his palm as if she weighs no more than a pebble and holds her out to Flik.

“You want her?” he asks, his voice dangerously calm. “Then go ahead, take her.”

Flik stares up at the princess, who dangles over him like a piece of bait. He can see her bottom lip wobbling with fear, hear the whimpers she’s trying so hard to hold back. Even in this moment, she wants to be brave for the colony. For him.

If you want her, then take her.

Everything in Flik wants to obey these words, to reach up and pull Dot from Hopper’s grasp. Of course he wants her. Right now, there’s nothing he wants more than to protect her from the monster in front of him.

But then he sees those talon-like fingernails pressing into the skin between Dot’s eyes. The grasshopper’s hand nearly eclipses her head, and he’s holding her in mid-air like she’s nothing.

She is nothing, to him.

Flik finally dares to look Hopper in the eye for the first time since the grasshopper entered the anthill. A shiver runs down his spine at what he sees.

There’s no emotion in those eyes, not even anger. Flik can’t read what he’s thinking or guess what he’s feeling. He can’t predict what Hopper will do if Flik takes him up on his offer.

He looks at Dot one last time. His heart wrenches at how frightened and fragile she looks.

How small.

He makes his choice.

A beat passes. The anthill holds its breath.

“No?” Hopper sneers, and it’s clear this decision doesn’t surprise him in the least. He lowers the hand clutching Dot. “Then get back in line.”

Now Flik can hear the undercurrent of anger in the grasshopper’s voice. He quickly obeys, and the ants behind him part to make room for their comrade who has proved himself to be both a failure and a coward.

Hopper returns to the middle of the room and announces something about the colony needing to learn their place and doubling the amount of food they collect. There’s a soft thud in the middle of his speech, and Flik glances up from the floor in time to see Dot scurry into her mother’s arms. Relief washes over him.

The minutes after that are a blur. Flik barely registers the roar of the grasshopper’s wings, the hundreds of angry eyes boring into him, or the sheaf of paper Thorny slaps against his chest that turns out to be a summons. He doesn’t even notice when everyone else begins to shuffle out of the bunker, whispering about how they’re all doomed because of him.

The sight of the royal family walking by finally jolts him from his daze. Flik reaches a hand towards Atta as she brushes by him.

“Princess, I —”

She holds a finger up. The apology dies on his lips.

“Don’t, Flik,” the princess says quietly. Then she presses her lips together and walks out of the bunker.

The Queen comes next. Dot clings to her, her face buried in the crook of her mom’s neck.

Before Flik can say anything, the Queen pauses and turns to face him. There’s something like pity in her gaze.

“I know it was an accident, my boy,” she says, hugging her daughter closer to her chest. “But we’re in a lot of trouble now because of you.”

She continues walking, calling out something to Cornelius about scheduling an emergency council meeting. Dot doesn’t even look up until they’re almost at the entrance of the bunker.

When she does, the sadness in her eyes sears Flik’s heart.

#one more part after this lovies!!!! #(i mean that's the plan but who honestly knows bc leave her alone was supposed to be five chapters max and we're fourteen deep and counting #pixar #disney pixar #a bug's life #pixar fanfic #disney fanfic #pixar fanfiction #disney fanfiction #flik #dot #princess dot #hopper #personal #pixar movie

[jilliancares]

Yo I was looking through all the fics I've read and I wanted to re-read 'The King's Quest' but I realised it was a patreon reward and was never posted. I was wondering if there is anywhere that I can find it?

I finally went and looked through my documents and found it! I’ll post it here!

The King’s Quest - 5k - a short, original wlw fiction story wherein the main character sets off to find the king’s missing crown, seeing as the one who accomplishes this task gets to marry the princess

“I don’t know why I go along with your plans,” Milo complained, hiking the (second) bag on his back higher. He’d offered to carry Jaz’s bag a mile back and had decided their mission was doomed ever since.

“Because you have nothing better to do,” Jaz answered honestly, and Milo made a sound in the back of his throat that was half agreement and half offense. It was true, though. Summer had come to their kingdom and without jobs or the responsibility of school, they had all the free time in the world.

They came from a small town — one small enough that there weren’t very many other kids their age — so if Milo had decided to stay while Jaz went on this adventure on her own, he would’ve been very much bored and alone for the summer. As it was, he tended to follow in Jaz’s footsteps, which led to grand adventures like this one (and less grand adventures, like their too frequent visits to the principal’s office). It wasn’t that Jaz liked making and getting in trouble, it was that she had grand plans for life, and not much could get in the way of her plans.

Examples of these grand plans included stealing Old Man Johnson’s pig, convincing Milo to shave his head, and marrying Princess Amelia. It wasn’t her fault that her plans tended to occasionally have disastrous results. Sure, Old Man Johnson had tried to have them arrested, and sure, Milo was still recovering from that stint with a pair of scissors, but what really mattered was that they’d had fun. Or at least, Jaz had.

Still, Jaz could admit this adventure was turning out to be less fun than she’d been anticipating. When the King had put out the royal order announcing that the first person to retrieve his royal (but stolen) crown would be able to marry his daughter, Jaz had jumped to attention with the beginnings of an adventure swirling through her brain. She’d imagined daring stakes and dangerous terrains and dueling masked strangers, and so far all she’d gotten was a long trek up a longer hill with a best friend who wouldn’t stop complaining.

Granted, he was carrying her bag, but he’d offered to do that. It wasn’t her fault that he had some misguided sense of chivalry. It’d been days since they’d left their hometown and Jaz had had a fine time of carrying her own bag all that time, but the moment they’d reached the base of the mountain Milo had puffed up his chest and claimed it was his pride on the line.

“Just give me my bag back,” Jaz insisted, turning around and walking up the path backwards, arm extended and fingers wiggling in Milo’s direction. She could see the want in his eyes, the desire to rid himself of the extra weight and make this unbearable climb slightly more bearable.

“No,” he ended up saying, hands coming up to cling to the straps on his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re —” Jaz cut herself off. Or, more accurately, the knife pressed against her throat, held by the person who Jaz currently had her back pressed against, cut her off. It was common instinct to shut the fuck up when an armed stranger had your life in their hands. Pretty hands, at that. Were those fingers manicured?

“Let’s all just calm down!” Milo shouted, eyes wide with panic as he flung his arms in the air in the universal sign of, I mean you no harm, please don’t slit my best friend’s throat. Unfortunately, the momentum of his arms flying into the air combined with the weight of two bags situated on his back overbalanced him, and he fell backwards and started tumbling down the mountain.

“Milo!” Jaz shouted, because even with a knife at your throat there was something scary about watching your best friend tumble head over feet down a steep and rocky slope. He slowed a few yards down from them, sliding sideways down the path, and let out a loud groan that assured Jaz his pride was hurt more than his body.

“Wow, I totally didn’t need to threaten you guys,” the potential-murderer said, and she released Jaz, spinning her dagger in her hand and tucking it into her belt. Milo was climbing back to his feed, slumping back up to where Jaz and the yet-to-be-a-murderer stood.

“Oh, good,” he panted, smiling weakly at the two of them. “You’ve worked out your differences.”

With Milo back at her side and a knife no longer at her throat, Jaz felt secure enough to examine her would-be murderer. Her nails were manicured, though that was hardly the only put-together thing about her. Her long hair was pinned up into an elegant bun atop her head, and her traveling clothes didn’t appear to have even a speck of dirt on them; meanwhile Jaz and Milo were covered from head to toe in dust. (Milo more-so, having just tumbled down the mountain.)

“Do you try to kill every traveler you see or was just there something special about us?” Jaz questioned. She couldn’t decide whether this girl was still a threat. Sure, her knife was put away, but how could anyone look so refined under a midday summer’s sun?

“I heard you two arguing,” the girl said with a shrug. “I assumed you’d be a couple more idiots on the King’s Quest.”

“And you think we’re not because…?” Milo said unhelpfully. If this girl only attacked idiots on the Quest then they’d better pretend they were a couple idiots on an afternoon hike!

“Well, you’re clearly not up to the task,” the girl laughed. “Sorry for having mistaken you.”

And, okay, this was probably why Jaz got in trouble all the time. She had a couple issues with things such as ‘holding her tongue’ and ‘keeping her temper,’ so it was with an indignant scoff that she responded to the girl, “What makes you think that?”

The girl blinked, surprised. Then she waved a hand at them, gesturing to them in general. Even Milo made an offended sound.

“I’ll have you know that we are on the King’s Quest!” Jaz snapped, leaning forward to get into the girl’s face. Probably not the best idea, considering she had a knife and possibly the devil on her side, seeing as she must’ve sold her soul to be looking like this in the middle of nowhere. “And we’re gonna find the crown first and I’m gonna marry the Princess!”

With that, Jaz stomped past the girl and further up the path, Milo scurrying along behind her, the weight of the bags forgotten. It made sense that this girl, some sort of soul-selling, mountain-guarding asshole, would’ve found a lot of people on the King’s Quest by hiding up in this mountain. It was the one path that crossed from the eastern half of the kingdom to the western half, and the town on the other side was home to a colony of secret-sellers. Anyone could learn anything there, so long as they had something the secret-keepers would want. It was this town that was Jaz’s current destination. There, she would barter for the last known location of the crown, and then she’d be off again, one step closer to marrying the princess.

“Wait!” the girl yelled, and it was instinct that made Jaz grab Milo’s wrist and start booking it up the last stretch of the mountain. In her mind’s eye, the girl was chasing after them, her knife held out and ready to stab their retreating backs.

“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die —” Milo was panting. Jaz glanced over at him to see that his eyes were squinched shut.

“Open your eyes!” she yelled at him.

“I don’t want to!” he burst out, all in one breath, and Jaz groaned, cursing her best friend and chancing a glance over her shoulder, possibly one of the last over-the-shoulder-glances she would ever have.

She was right in that the girl was chasing them, except she wasn’t carrying her knife, and her hair had escaped it’s updo and was falling around her red face as she chased after them. It was this (the hair, not the absense of the knife) that finally persuaded Jaz to stop. This girl was human after all.

“Why are we stopping?!” Milo demanded, because Jaz was still holding onto his wrist and he’d stumbled to a stop immediately after she had.

“I don’t think we’re about to get murdered,” Jaz said.“Famous last words,” Milo said darkly, moments before the girl caught up to them and bent over her knees, breathing heavily.

“God,” she said, her voice thin and breathless. “Never make me run up a mountain again.” And then, once she’d caught her breath and stood up straight, she smiled. “I want to join you,” she said.

Jaz considered it. “No.”

“Wha — why not!?”

Counting off her fingers, Jaz said, “You held a knife to my throat, said we ‘weren’t up to the task,’ and I’m going to marry the Princess.”

“What does that last one have to do with me?”

“If you find the crown first, you could try to steal my future wife. I can’t risk that,” Jaz scoffed, her tone obvious. Milo was nodding importantly.

“What about him?” the girl said, gesturing to Milo.

“Uh-uh,” Milo said loudly, shaking his head. “I want nothing to do with the Princess. I’m just here as moral support.”

“Well, I want nothing to do with the Princess either,” the girl said haughtily. “After you marry her, you could give me some gold or something. That’ll be my compensation.”

Jaz considered it again. This girl did have a knife, which she seemed pretty skilled with, and maybe she’d sold enough of her soul for Jaz to look even half as clean as she did. “Fine,” Jaz said, still eyeing the stranger carefully. “You can come with us.” She extended her hand. “I’m Jaz. Short for Jasmine.”

“Nice to meet you, Jasmine,” said the girl.

“No,” Jaz said. “Short for Jasmine. I’m Jaz.”

“Right, right. And I’m Millie.” The girl — Millie — nodded her head as she said this, shaking Jaz’s hand.

“Milo,” Milo interrupted, turning their handshake into a hand pile, which he then shook up and down.

With introductions finished and knives still yet to be buried in anyone’s skin, they were off. Having run up the mountain, a good amount of the climb was behind them, and before they knew it they were cresting the peak, able to see the town below.

“So what’s our plan?” Millie asked. It was strange, how quickly they became a ‘we’ instead of an ‘us and the scary girl with the knife.’

“We go there,” Jaz explained, pointing to the town below them. “We’re gonna barter for information of the crown’s whereabouts.”

“All right, all right, yeah. Good plan. Except I already know where the crown is.”

Both Jaz and Milo turned to look at Millie in shock. For what probably shouldn’t have been the first time, Jaz wondered, who is this girl?

“Um,” said Milo. “How?”

“I already bartered for it,” she said, gesturing towards the town with a jerk of her head. “Real stingey, the secret-keepers. I almost thought I wouldn’t have anything they’d want.”

“What’d you give them?” Jaz asked incredulously. She was aware that she didn’t have much to offer herself, but she’d already been coming up with plans in her mind as to how she might buy a secret anyway. She was thinking of promising them gold if — (when) — she found the crown and married the Princess, or something like offering to be their servant for a year otherwise. It wasn’t ideal, but she was desperate and information was scarce. And yet in swoops Millie, the immaculate Fixer of All Problems. How the hell does that happen?

“Oh — just, you know. Some jewelry,” Millie answered unhelpfully. Jaz squinted at her distrustfully. Milo cheered.

“One less step for us!” he said excitedly, immediately throwing both his and Jaz’s bags to the ground. “I vote we take a break.” Before Jaz could protest, could claim that they should head off now if they really wanted to be the first ones to find the crown, Millie joined Milo on the ground.

“Perfect,” she said, sitting prim and proper and folding her hands in her lap. “I was starting to get a cramp.”

Very quickly, Jaz was learning that Millie was not the best travel companion. Unlike Milo, who always let Jaz be the leader of their little duo, she challenged Jaz’s directions and made suggestions of her own. Granted, sometimes these suggestions turned out to be better than Jaz’s ideas in the first place, but she still didn’t much like the feeling of being challenged.

Not to mention the fact that Millie was so secretive. Every night when they built a fire and gathered around it and ate whatever provisions they had for dinner, they talked. Conversation strayed and laughter rung freely, but whenever any kind of personal question was directed Millie’s way she closed right up. She didn’t seem to want to talk about her past or her home or herself. It was starting to get old, in Jaz’s opinion. She hated the way their conversations stuttered to an awkward stop, right at Millie’s feet.

Possibly the worst thing about her, though, was the fact that she thought the King’s Quest was stupid. And they were on the King’s Quest!

“I just think it’s derogatory,” Millie went on pompously. They’d left the terrain of the mountain and everything neighboring it days ago. Now, they were stomping through a forest in what was supposedly the fastest way towards the crown. Except the forest was giving way to swampland and Jaz could feel her feet sinking and squelching with every step. Her mood was already low enough, what with this horrible and uncomfortable part of their journey, and she certainly didn’t need Millie going on about how the King’s Quest was derogatory. Especially not when she never seemed to sink into the mud herself, picking her way across the land on somehow only the parts that didn’t sink.

“I think you’re derogatory,” Jaz muttered under her breath, but Millie didn’t hear her. Milo was some yards ahead of them, covered in mud up to his knees.

“I think the ground’s getting more stable over here!” he called back excitedly, waving as if they weren’t able to see him as easily as he could see them. He then took another step forward and sank up to his waist. “Mmm, just kidding!”

Millie continued on as if none of this had happened. “I mean, think about it. Everyone’s just trying to marry the Princess without knowing anything about her. They just want gold or jewels or power, Jasmine.”

“It’s Jaz,” Jaz bit out. Scratch everything she’d said before — the worst thing about Millie was the fact that she couldn’t seem to get Jaz’s name right. “And you’re the one who wanted compensation in gold,” Jaz pointed out. “I want her undying love and affection.”

Millie rolled her eyes, which Jaz didn’t fail to see. She pointed a finger at Millie. “You’re wrong,” she said. “Sure, I bet some people are just in it for the money or whatever, but that doesn’t mean everyone is. Some of us have been waiting all our lives to meet the Princess. Some of us have read every single one of her interviews. Some of us have even donated to all the charities she’s founded.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “Well now you’re just talking about yourself, aren’t you?”

Jaz blushed. “She’s a great person,” she enthused. “We’re soulmates — which she’ll realize the second she meets me.” With a sigh, Jaz let her mind wander, imagining carrying the crown up the castle’s steps, the King weeping gratefully at her feet, Princess Amelia crying my hero! when she saw her.

“Well let’s just hope you are the one to find it,” Millie said with a huff. “Otherwise some creep might end up marrying the Princess.”

Jaz glared at the other girl. “I will fight any and all creeps that try to get in the way of me and the Princess.”

Milo, still stuck in the mud up to his waist, finally called out for help.

It took another good hour of slumming through the swamp until they were finally on solid ground again, and practically the rest of the afternoon of trudging through yet more forest before they were emerging into another unimpressive field. Honestly, Jaz had been expecting this journey to the crown to be a bit more exciting. They’d yet to pass through a single town, all their travels being through useless, obscure places.

“Where did you say this crown was again?” Jaz demanded, arms crossed as she surveyed the disgusting amount of endless field before them. She was tired of walking. She was tired of there not being any paths. She was tired of not having the crown in her hands.

“Oh it’s — in that direction,” Millie said, pointing her finger across the field.

“Yeah, but what’s this place called?”

“It’s… too hard to pronounce,” Millie said, avoiding eye contact, and Jaz grit her teeth in anger. She was suddenly and viciously confident that Millie was lying to her. Every time they’d asked her where they were going, she’d avoided answering in the way Jaz wanted, avoiding giving this place they were apparently going to a name.

“Spell it out, I’m great at pronouncing things,” Milo suggested happily.

“I don’t know how to spell it,” Millie answered, and Jaz was sure. This girl was a liar. Jaz had been an idiot to trust her, a random person squatting in the mountains and threatening adventurers with knives.

“Oh, well,” Jaz said lightly, uncharacteristically dropping it. “We’ll get there when we get there, whatever this place is.” Millie smiled gratefully, agreeing, and Jaz plastered the biggest and fakest smile onto her face in return.

She spent that whole evening stewing in her anger. She made idle chit-chat during dinner and helped set up their camp afterwards, spreading their sleeping bags out in the field. Except she didn’t sleep. She laid there, letting time pass her by as Milo and Millie dropped off, their breaths evening and becoming slow and steady around her. And then she made her move.

Jaz climbed out of her sleeping bag, cringing with every crinkle of the material and crunch of the leaves and grasses around her, and tiptoed to Millie’s bag. It was a nice bag, much nicer than Jaz and Milo’s, and it was with apprehension that Jaz opened it. She had no idea what she would find inside, but she was kind of imagining an array of weapons or a severed head or something.

Instead, she found clothes, a few bags of nuts and berries, and a crown. Jaz’s thought process was something like, yep, yep, okay, sure. A crown. Nice.

And then her heart was shooting up into her throat, surely beating loudly enough to wake both Milo and Millie, because WHAT? Millie had the crown?! She’d had it all along?! What the hell was going on?

Jaz was a mix of emotions, all tangled and confusing inside her. Anger and betrayal warred in her stomach. Despite everything, she’d actually grown to like Millie. She’d started to consider her a friend, had even enjoyed her company when she wasn’t being annoying, and now she felt betrayed. Millie was up to something. Maybe something evil.

Part of Jaz — a huge part, to be honest — wanted to grab the crown, wake Milo, and book it. It was the kind of betrayal Millie deserved, after leading them on whatever wild goose chase this was. But the rest of Jaz wanted answers. She wanted to know why. And it was because of this part of her — curse her stubborn love for dramatics! — that she yanked the crown out of the bag, stood upright, and demanded, “What the hell, Millie?!”

Millie woke up immediately. As did Milo, with an unrefined, “Wha — !?”

It was obvious to see Millie’s panic as her gaze shot from the crown to Jaz’s face and back again.

“Oh my God!” Milo suddenly burst out. “You found the crown!” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Am I dreaming?”

“No, Milo, you’re not dreaming,” Jaz said shortly. “Millie tricked us. She had the crown all along.”

“It’s not what you think,” Millie said immediately, pleadingly, and Jaz scoffed.

“What was the point of all this?” she asked. “Why even get Milo and me to come with you in the first place? Where were you even taking us?”

“To the castle!” Millie said, sounding desperate now. She gestured into the distance, the same direction they’d been headed, but Jaz wasn’t sure she believed her. It wasn’t like she knew the kingdom very well, especially on the ground instead of looking down at a map.

“A likely story,” Jaz scoffed. “And just what —” she was interrupted by the sound of people crashing through the forest, only a small ways from where their camp was set up.

“Get down!” Millie suddenly said, her voice a whisper-shout. Jaz didn’t feel very inclined to listen to a liar, but Millie shot to her feet and pulled Jaz to the ground just in time, hiding the two of them in the midst of all the tall grasses of the field.

Milo was only a little ways from them, but his eyes were wide and he looked worried. Millie gestured for him to stay where he was, before putting a finger to her lips. She was a liar. She’d had the crown all along. But still, Jaz couldn’t help but trust her in that moment, when the far-off voices were becoming less far-off, growing louder and angrier the closer they got.

“I heard voices, I swear!” one person — a man, it sounded like — growled.

“Then where are they?” another person asked.

“Probably in the field somewhere,” another answered.

Then came the sounds of three pairs of footsteps stomping through the field. And with the sound of their footsteps, the unmistakable clink of — armor? But who would wear armor other than the King’s Guard?

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” one man sang. Jaz could hear their footsteps getting louder. Millie looked frightened.

When the men got so close Jaz was afraid they were in danger of getting stepped on, Millie seemed to brace herself before standing straight up. Jaz, despite her earlier anger at Millie, followed, jumping up and stepping in front of her, for some reason. Probably because she was brave. Super brave.

Milo, because he’d always been a good follower, followed. He, too, jumped to his feet, and he fought and struggled through weeds clinging to his feet to stand beside Jaz, also in front of Millie.

And Jaz wasn’t afraid to say that she was kind of in shock. Before her were three, fully outfitted members of the King’s Guard, equipped with armor and swords and the whole shebang. Just what was going on?

“Step away from the Princess,” one man said, glowering at them, and all the thoughts dropped out of Jaz’s head. For a second, she thought incredulously, who?

And then: “Stand down.” It was Millie who said it, and for some weird reason, the guards listened to her. They stepped back and stopped looking quite so terrifying.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Milo said, but Jaz refused to let him come to the realization before she did. It was because of this that she turned around, gaping at Millie.

“You’re the Princess?!” she spluttered, and Millie — Princess Amelia — smiled a guilty little smile.

“Surprise?”

“You’re to return to the castle at once, Princess,” one of the guards spoke up. “Your father orders it.”

Millie crossed her arms. “They’re coming with me,” she said, gesturing to Jaz and Milo. Oh, great, Jaz thought. We’re getting arrested.

“Princess —”

“They found the crown,” Millie said sternly.

“You stole the crown!” one of the guards burst out angrily. Millie just stuck her nose up, looking off to the side.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

Jaz, who was in a state of shock so severe she was considering sitting down, looked at Milo. He appeared to be feeling similarly, and as she watched, he continually mouthed the word ‘Princess?’ to himself.

Jaz became aware of the voices still talking somewhere around her and had to force herself to tune back in. “— found the crown fair and square, so it’ll be her that I marry. That is, if she agrees?”

Millie was looking at Jaz expectantly and Jaz scrambled to keep up, to remember what they were talking about, and — oh. OH.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah I agree, um. Yeah.” Jaz couldn’t help remembering how she’d ranted to Millie — the Princess! — about how great the Princess was. God, this was twisted. And embarrassing. She was never going to live this down.

Then, past the layers of embarrassment and confusion and general slow, jelly-like thoughts, Jaz realized her heart was pounding away with excitement. She was marrying the Princess. Sure, it’s what she’d set out to do, but so rarely did her plans go anything other than awry.

And Jaz, because she never admitted to her mistakes if she could help it, turned to Milo with a smirk. “I told you this plan was a great one.”

Milo scoffed, throwing his hands into the air. “You didn’t even find the crown! It found you!” he protested, but Jaz wasn’t listening. She was too busy thinking of the future, of long afternoons spent in the castle’s gardens and even longer nights spent dragging Millie through the city’s streets in search of a real adventure.

#the king's quest #my writing #original fiction #jilliancares #catatonichristy

[talesofsonicasura]

Erase The Future

One of the things I work hard to improve is writing characters established from many different series or genre. Mainly, I focus on characters who are quite difficult to write for new writers due to lack of information about them or the type of personality they have.

This little fic of mine involves one such character, Urizen from Devil May Cry. Warning: Contains minor spoilers!

Summary: Demon King Urizen has crushed every challenger to his hellish throne with pure unmatched power. To him, nothing could stop him from claiming his power and title as the Ruler of All Hell. Until a rift of time and space drops him a little gift... And turns world into a crash course dummy.

Two brothers with hair of snow and eyes of ice. Both separated by tragedy and doomed to face it once more. Cursed to spill their own blood continuous to the floor. When the tree of blood grows is when it begins. The tree's downfall is where their lives would end. Their fate can be challenged to change if intervened. An outside source to show both what they were too blind to see.

This single savior was born of misfortune and death at their first breath. Abandoned for being born inable to see and cast out in the worst of nature's disasters...A dangerous blizzard in the coldest tundra. Through kindness of another let the soul grow strong. A titan of champions is what they become. Though failure to this task was prominent promising a fate far worse than death.

Yet… To the heir of a frozen kingdom, Dyna Crown Fleur, the results were worth a cursed fate. For kindness and mercy, was long overdue for both tragic souls.

Qlipthoth, a demon tree that grows in the Underworld. It feeds on the blood of human life to blossom a single fruit that when eaten, crowns a demon the Ruler of Hell with boundless power. This tree currently rose at the center of Red Grave City and grown vastly from the millions of lives it slaughtered. Deep within the tree and sat on a makeshift throne, was a colossal devil covered in brambles and thorns named Urizen.

Power, absolute power is what this very behemoth sought. Yet, he was about to learn power came in many forms and so did Karma. The vast grove and network of blood filled vines began to shake within the Qlipthoth's center. Amongst the blood pool, the devil covered in deathly gray plant life light flashed immensely confused amongst the multiple hollows on his body. "What is this? This...power I am sensing." A gravelly voice from the devil as he lifted his hand up.

To him, this strange energy was...pure. Unlike the taint familiar with demonic power of all kinds, what he was sensing felt...calming. Not that of angels but of harmony, silence and peace. It was enticing to his senses that the devil couldn't help the urge to tear off the thorns covering his true form just to feel on his own hide. He needed to see what it was.

With a wave of his hand, the pool of blood at his feet began to change forming a mirror reflection of a different part of the Qlipthoth. Bright blue shined when a single line appeared above one of the roots before forming a large emerald tear. A rift in time and space was what the massive devil realized. Yet, what stepped out of it before it closed had him bewildered. It was a human woman.

She stood around 6'2 with forest green hair, skin a soft light peach and eyes a pure clear and crystal aquamarine. The woman wore a thick dark velvet winter dress decorated with elegant gold vine like embroidery and the emblem of a crown wearing animal, a golden wreath around her neck with a small rainbow jewel held at the center and the biggest oddity was the lack of footwear.

While Urizen didn't care for those lower than him, he could see the vast beauty of the human female. What really grew his interest was her walking. With every graceful step she took, plant life from grass to even flowers grew on the Qlipthoth floor. He could feel the blood from those sections fading as if the plants were absorbing and purifying it. They were becoming normal human plant life by the pure energy that was coming from her.

"Very interesting. What are you to purify even the Qlipthoth with mere touch and bewildered me so? Bring her to me." Urizen spoke as vast insect like chittering echoed through the blood tree. The woman only known to herself in this world as Dyna traversed the vast expanse of the blood channeling growths around her. Despite the gruesome and hellish landscape around, she was not afraid.

"A tree...no a grove that feeds on the life essence of others. I can feel the very souls trapped in these brambles cry out in pain. Wallow in sorrow no more with every step I take. Let your souls finally slumber as new life blossoms forth." Her voice soft and sweet like pure honey as more of her vibrant plant life covered the Qlipthoth floor with each step she took.

Her blue eyes caught the vast amount of moving gray around her. Inhuman beasts that held the form of an ant crossed with both spider and human easily in her sight no matter how fast they scurrying or well they hide. Beady red eyes, thorax covered in blood red jewels, jagged pincer like maws and thin scythe like claws. "I know you are there. My eyes are much sharper than others. It'll be better if you show yourself." Dyna spoke stopping as the large insect creature landed in front of from above.

It was a bit larger than her in height and grotesque but she still remain unbothered by her unnatural guest. "You are a worker just like a colony of Combee. Your species must provide substance to this tree. Honestly, it's a poor job considering the many remnants of the souls trapped in your home's woodwork and state of your hierarchy. Judging from you not attacking me, you're here to lead me to whoever rules over this current colony." Dyna questioned as the insect nodded its head.

"Lead the way then please." She said as the creature or Red Empusa guided her to Urizen's throne. The very devil himself was watching her as the insect demon lead her through the tree. He was impressed by what he had seen so far. She easily deduced the Empusa's nature and reason, the Qlipthoth's basic way of growth and remained undeterred by the hell around her. He cleared the image as Dyna walked into the room.

The Empusa immediately scurried off afterwards not wanting to stay anywhere near the tree demon's range. The woman looked up at him as Urizen could see her form far better than from his blood mirror. Those eyes of hers were beautiful up close. Pure uncut aquamarine that even diamonds couldn't hold a candle to the clear hue. Faint accents of gold by the corner of her eyes merely enhanced the elegance. He'll get a better look after seizing her for himself.

"You must be the one who planted the seed for this massive vampiric tree. Quite cheeky to have it bloom in the middle of a human settlement. Urizen, or should I say the Devil of Vergil Sparda?" Dyna questioned as those words had Urizen get onto his feet. The tendrils of his body snapping a bit from the Qlipthoth as blood spilled to the floor while the devil stood at his full height glaring down at her.

"I never gave you my name or my origin. Who are you human?" Urizen hissed in annoyance as if the name burned. Ignoring his hissing, Dyna took out a strange ball from her dress sleeve. It was half red and half white with a button outlined by black stripe. She tossed the sphere in her hand repeatedly as if she was juggling it. She didn't even look away from him still performing the act. "My name is Dyna Crown Fleur. For why I am here… I here to stop this devastating tree from growing any further. Tragedy must come to an end and if it means defeating you…"

Dyna grabbed the sphere out of the air before facing it as Urizen with a glare on her face. "Then I won't hold back." She declared voice firm and strong. The devil chuckled before sitting on his throne easily amused. He produced a blood red crystal in hand before reconnecting his tendrils to the devilish tree. "Very amusing. Dyna Crown Fleur, show me just how you will defeat me." Urizen mocked. The little sphere in her hand was a mere toy to him.

"Your aura is nothing but a phantom cloaked by putrid life of the thorns protecting your body. That blood red crystal merely an extension of dauntless darkness. To throw life and mind at you now will get me nowhere so instead. I'll have my confidant shatter your barrier first!" Her cryptic words had him baffled but...he realized that little ball was NOT a mere plaything.

"Pyros, prepare for battle!" She tossed the ball into the air as a flash of light shot forth. From the light materialized a creature Urizen never seen before. This creature was a bipedal white tiger covered in crimson striped fur, its chest was gray with a white cross like pattern, large tufts of crimson fur around the muzzle, shoulders, legs, a tail with a ring of spikes around it, yellow and verdant green eyes, large fangs and claws and a belt of pure flames around their waist.

"Incineroar!!!!" The beast howled unleashing a pure shockwave of power from its pure battlecry alone. To Dyna, this creature was her Incineroar Pyros, a Pokemon she grew up with from her homeland to survive. "What kind of creature is this you summoned to dare challenge me!?" Urizen growled clearly thrown off by Pyros' special ability: Intimidate. Intimidate weakened the attack power of every opponent Pyros faced so the fact Urizen felt threatened had proven the ability had work.

"Incineroar, the Heel Pokemon. His species will refuse the orders of those they don't trust with pure nonchalance. However once presented a decent challenge, they are relentless. Pyros, give him a mere taste of your nature with Fire Blast."Dyna ordered. The Heel Pokemon opened his mouth full of flames before hurling a massive star like cross of it at the demon king. A blood red barrier immediately materialized around Urizen but even the demon had to shield himself from the intense flames as it crashed into the shield.

Blueish green lights brighten greatly noticing the large spider web cracking across the surface of the stone and his barrier. "Darkest Lariat." Pyros burst from the flames like a spinning bullet to Urizen's view and hit the barrier with a powerful lariat. The barrier immediately shattered from the brute force of Pyros' attack. Even the crystal supplying the barrier exploded from the immense power the Incineroar unleashed!

'What kind of power is this?!' The devil couldn't help but think. This Incineroar, manifested enough power to overload his barrier but another strike to destroy his magic crystal at the same time. His half breed brother couldn't even crack it unlike this burning beast! Then came insult to injury.

"Fury Swipes." Pyros' claws glowed white as the talons grew into long blades. The Incineroar didn't hesitate to repeatedly tear his claws through Urizen's armored hide and scratching up the devil's exposed mouth like an angry cat. The tree demon roared in pain swatting at Pyros but the Fire/Dark type easily dodged returning back into battle position in front of Dyna with a wild grin on his face. The demon king immediately sat up not caring about snapping off his thorn like tentacles from the tree itself again.

The cat scratches over his face and tears through his hide revealing multiple glaring orange eyes upon her form. He was absolutely furious. This human woman was mocking him in his own throne room. His fury ignited upon the mischievous grin that grew on Dyna's face. It exploded when the woman had the audacity to SING an insult to him.

"I am the tallest of mountains. I am the roughest of waves. I'm the toughest of terrors. I am the darkest of days. I'm the last one that's standing. Don't try to stand in my way. Cause I've been up against better. Just take a look at my face. Causing if you're messing with me, I am a dangerous weapon. I am the sharpest of blades. I'll cut down in a second." Her sweet voice destroying his precious silence with pure sass.

"I see the part that you tried to hide. That you are merely a scared babe behind a monster of a lie. The fact that you aren't as strong as you think on the inside. To remove half of yourself was your folly. Absolute power you say? No, that's the humiliation that made me merry and jolly!" Dyna taunted as Urizen howled in absolute rage.

Multiple tendrils sprout from the Qlipthoth around her slithering like angry snakes around the livid demon. "You've managed to infuriate me more than that damn treacherous spawn I dare call brother. A queen must know to never disrespect their king! I'll tear your summon in half before I claim my first generation with your bloodline, my dear Hell Bride and soon to be Queen of Hell." Urizen declared. He flinched when both trainer and Pokemon merely chuckled.

"Hold back Pyros. I'll take it from here." Dyna spoke as the Incineroar stepped back and she took a step forward with eyes closed. He flinched once more as the woman opened her eyes. "Cause I was born in this pain. It only hurts if you let it." They were a pure glowing cyan as if burning with pure power yet...he thought he saw sadness for a moment.

"So if you think you can take me then you should go and forget it." He lashed out a few of the roots towards her at lightning speed with a snap of his fingers. Cyan light enveloped the attack tendrils before she waved her hand away. Those glowing roots we're slammed into the Qlipthoth wall hard enough for each to snap in half. "After all this time your back for more. I won't stop until THEY know my name. So I'll take what's mine and start this war. I'm coming at you like a tidal wave."

He didn't hesitate sending more roots at her. Yet she continued to cut them down with no effort. She was doing the same thing he did to his half breed brother and every single insect that dared to challenge him. She made him feel helpless.

"When everything you know has come and gone. You are at your lowest and I am rising higher. Only scars remain of who I was. What I find in the ashes, you lose in the fire. When there's no one left to carry on. This is a illusion, open up your eyes and… The pain persists I can't resist. But that's what it takes to be infinite."

That same cyan light snaring him and every Qlipthoth root he was controlling at the moment. "Psychic!" They were immediately slammed into the walls of the throne room with enough brutal force that his tendrils exploded into blood upon impact and Urizen shattered his throne underneath his own body.

The Devil picked himself up and glared heavily with glints of fear now exposed. More of his armored hide had shattered now revealing half of his beastish azure face with multiple piercing eyes, monstrous fangs and short crown of jagged horns. Green eyes going from fear to pure surprise at the soft smile she now held. A smile that held no malice.

"Now I can see some of your beautiful face from that ugly mask you wear. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder as they say. That beauty for me is the person under the shell of armor they use to hide their own weakness. Their true self in many terms." Dyna spoke softly for it was enough for the Devil to blink.

She had immediately disappeared once he did only to reappear right in his face hovering softly in the air. That same cyan light bathing her body as she floated daintly before him. 'Is she part fae? No...not even faes hold such elegance, grace and so much raw power. No, it must be a goddess that stands before me.' Urizen thought as he unconsciously reach his hand out to her.

"So look around you and tell me what you really SEE. You live a lie and that's the difference between you and me. I have the power. Let me show you what it's it all about. It's only me and you- Who is gonna save you now?"

Dyna laid a hand on his crown of horns and everything around him just...stopped. Then came flashes of memories... and the unknown pain to follow. Her eyes reflected those scenes from the human half, half breed brother, weak women that fueled his weapons and the human whelp whose limb was missing but also those he wasn't familiar with. Then these odd sensations slammed into him from every single one. These odd things hurt him somehow with every death or wound that he caused but none scathe his body.

It stopped when a gentle touch pressed his forehead and eyes widened upon the sight. Dyna Fleur Crown had laid a kiss on him. His mind went blank. This woman made no sense. She threatened him, had her beast shatter his barrier and scar him, she brought him down to his knees, searched his memories and forced new ones with this strange pain for each one. Now, she had the audacity to kiss him.

He blinked in response only to see her on the back of her fiery beast Pyros. A soft smile on her face and the same for the Incineroar. "V, Dante, Nero, Trish and Lady. Your human half and the ones you have harmed the most. Urizen, Devil of Vergil Sparda, I will give you a single warning. If you feast on the fruit of this hellish tree, then it will be me you shall face instead of your brother. And unlike him, it won't be a fight. It will be your true downfall. Reflect on the past once more." Was all she said before Pyros burst out of the throne room.

The Incineroar soaring across the tendrils with fire exploding from every pounce and step. She was gone just like that as Urizen could only stand in silence. The woman didn't make a worthless threat. She held the power to back up her declaration not just her beast alone. "Dyna Crown Fleur... could have ended me with a flick of her wrist. Forced these strange irritating sensations onto me even now… Yet spares my life…" Urizen spoke using his tendrils to repair his broken throne in seconds.

Multiple exposed eyes staring at the scars covering his form's broken armor from his throne's blood pool. "Summoner from another plane… Wielding of a beast of intense flame… Eyes that mirror my past… Power far more pure than an archangel… And beauty matched with cryptic knowledge…" He sat on his repaired throne how in thought. "Who are you… Dyna Crown Fleur?"

And that's it! Yes, I crossed this little story with Pokemon to show just how different Dyna and Urizen are. Urizen who only relies on his own power and himself versus Dyna who not only is powerful on her own but works with her Pokemon to overcome any challenge.

For Urizen, the goal of this fic is for him to realize the same that happened to dear old Sparda. To find his own reason to fight for the sake of others, his own justice.

Dyna's origins is related to a Pokemon that will relate and revolve around the Part 2 DLC for Sword and Shield, Calyrex the Crown Pokemon.

Dyna- A term or prefix often use to mean power. Ex: Dynamo, Dynamic, Dynamite

Fleur which is French for Flower.

Dyna Crown Fleur, the Crowned Flower of Strength.

Song used: Infinite from Sonic Forces

#dmc #devil may cry #pokemon #urizen #pokemon trainer oc #devil may cry 5 #human oc #psychic oc #incineroar #pokemon sword and shield #crossover #fanfic #mun sonicasura #urizen x oc

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Vanilla Sky prt 35 full draft

This... This wasn't possible. Sitting in the pilot's chair, trying to manually override the shuttles automatic programming, Lance's heart was pounding almost as fiercely as his head.... and the rest of his body. Keith knew about his finger, but he didn't need to know about the rest of what had happened in that room before he was brought in. There was a reason he wasn't in the same clothes he'd in, and it wasn't just due to the blood from losing his finger. The samples taken from him of a much more intimate nature, because for some reason they knew about his body's "abnormalities". They hadn't gone past probing, but it'd been enough to send him into a panic attack. When they didn't know what to do about it, they'd drugged him up and brought Keith in. Yet, all of that had been pushed aside when he'd seen the dead Altean laying on the floor of the shuttle. The man hadn't looked like that when he was cuffing the other officers together... He'd still looked buff and foreign to him, not being a Galra... but an Altean. Lance had no idea what to do. He wasn't stupid. He knew that there were good and bad people, no matter what the race was... but... he just couldn't... he had no idea what this meant. Lotor had rounded up all the old Altean's to form his new colony, and something about the dead man screamed at him that he wasn't from new Altea. He didn't understand... He really... just... "Lance?" And then there was Keith. Keith who was his whole world. Keith who'd they hurt and Keith who thought he'd murdered the officers on the shuttle. Not that he could blame him. He was a murderer, and he wanted to slaughter everyone who'd touched Keith, but... the look on his face. Lance had never seen something like that... at least not on Keith's face. It'd broken his heart, and nearly sent him spiralling. No. It had sent him spiralling... He was lying to Keith, or rather not telling him the truth because there was literally nothing that could change what had happened in the outpost. There was a dead Altean in the shuttle bay. Keith was hiding how badly busted up he was, and how painful his wrist must be... oh, and they were probably about to die... "Lance?" Nudging his foot with his, Lance winced at the contact. He'd gone from craving Keith's touch, to not being able to handle anything against his skin again "I'm here" His wrapped up left hand made tinkering with wires hard. He'd already been shocked and was sure he'd lit the edge of his bandages on fire in the process "I couldn't hail Shiro or my mother, I did send messages. To the Atlas, and to Daibazaal. If Kolivan's there, he'll coordinate with her" Shiro. Shiro and Krolia. Lance didn't know how he was ever going to face the pair of them again. "Shame" and "self loathing" failed to describe what he felt about the pair. They were the most important people in Keith's life, despite what he might say. They held the most sway over Keith, and both were fiercely protective of him. And now he'd been tortured, kept prisoner, and was sporting some pretty serious damage to his wrist... What if what they'd done to him spelled the end of Keith's work for the Blades? How was he supposed to live with that? He'd been prepared not to come back from all of this... He couldn't go through with Keith to think of. He had to get him home safely and back to his family. It didn't mean Lance didn't believe Keith loved him, but things were going to get messy. No doubt Shiro would lecture him for being reckless. Krolia would be mad for endangering Keith. Veronica and Hunk had to know he'd been lying through his teeth about his job, and Acxa would probably be plotting his death despite the fact Veronica would be mad. Actually. No. They were probably plotting his death together... Going back to all of that wasn't appealing at all. "Did you hear me?" "Yeah. Sorry. I was concentrating on these wires" Another lie. He had no idea what he was doing under there. He'd had to shoot the dash half a dozen times to create a hole big enough for him to get into the wires as it was "Is there anything I can do to help?" "No. To be honest I've never had to climb under the dash of one of these. All these wires look the same" They were all black. He could trace them from the controls, but then they disappeared down into the floor where he couldn't get to them "Come out then. We've got about half a varga until we reach our destination. You need to get changed" So they were going with his plan? Lance had zero confidence that they'd be accepted as officers. Both their body types were wildly off. Keith had the height, but failed on the width. Lance had neither. He also wasn't able to stand upright properly thanks to the pain from probing between his legs. Unfortunately none of their escort were carrying any sedatives or drugs the could used to take the pain away. When he failed to reply to Keith, Keith grabbed by the ankle and pulled, Lance barely able to stop from kicking out in defence at the action that sent his pain ricocheting through his abused body. Everything hurt so badly he didn't know how he was still conscious. Coming out from under the dash, Keith was holding his ribs as he straightened up, reminding Lance that he couldn't show any more pain or discomfort to his boyfriend. He needed to pull on his mask and play Leandro. Leandro could do things that Lance could only dream of. Leandro could save Keith, where as Lance would only slow him down. Maybe there was something on one of the officers he could use to hide his face. He felt naked without his body suit, and ashamed of the flickering marks on his cheeks. He'd copped a glimpse of them in the cold metal under the dash, the pulsing blue almost as cruel as Allura who was standing off to the corner with her arms crossed. She'd already scolded him for his behaviour, talking right over Keith as Keith tried to comfort him. He wanted her gone again. He wanted his head freed of her voicing all his horrible innermost thoughts. It wasn't fair that he had to see her, not when he was in this much pain... and not when there was a dead Altean in the back of the ship. She'd never have understood that Keith killing the man had been accident... She would say she would, but he knew better. Biting the insides of his already chewed up cheeks, Lance was slightly proud that he managed not to moan or groan as he climbed to his feet, brushing past Keith as he headed into the back of the shuttle to prepare. They only had one shot at taking the enemy by surprise, so he had to bring his A game. No matter what it cost him, he needed to save Keith. * Dressed in a stolen uniform, Lance had found a black strip of cloth to cover the lower half of his face with. It didn't hide the shaven part of his head, where they'd taken some kind of sample from inside that he really didn't want to think about, but it did hide his ears and muffle his gasp of surprise. Everyone had called the "satellite" a satellite. Having never been there, and given that access was limited to those who worked at the outpost, Lance never imagined it would be as large as it was. With a main planetary body, of glowing purple, in the middle of the station, various walkways extended out to man-made rings. Despite appearing fixed to be fixed in place by said walkways, the rings also appeared to be rotating, though that wasn't possible. "Are you seeing this?" Given he was right beside Keith, the question was stupid "Yeah... I never knew it was so big" "It's a hell of a lot bigger than I expected it to be" "That makes two of us. It's supposed to be Galran in origin, isn't it?" The ion canons mounted on the four "points" visible to them, would confirm that argument "I think so. I don't know about the planet though" "I guess we're about to find out" Cutting through the artificial lights and the darkness of space, a tractor beam was projected from the planet. The shuttle shuddering as it was caught in its beam. This was it. This was go time "We should get in the back. You've got the three blades, don't you?" Keith nodded "Yeah, and the blaster" Shiro hadn't replied, neither had Krolia. With all the hinky time stuff going on out in this sector of space, Lance had no idea how much time had passed for either of them. Or for his team. Daehra wasn't going to be happy "Good. Remember the plan?" "If it moves, take it down. But try to stay out of sight" Keith sounded like he'd repeated the words a million and one times. They hadn't been able to get to the control room of the outpost, and with how wounded they were, they were now focusing on escaping rather than capture. Thought that plan might have to join the others in scrap heap because he had no clear idea how the quiznak anyone could possibly escape when the place looked like death. Maybe they should have just enjoyed the ride in the back? They wouldn't have been subjected to the crushing doom that was flooding through them right now. Lance liked to pretend Keith was feeling just as uncertain as he was, despite the fact Keith had probably done the very same thing in nearly matching circumstances before. He knew his accidental husband had issues with satellites after the Kuron thing, so knew that there was no way Keith was feeling as cool as he looked "Yeah. Right. Let's get ready" Coming to a stop in a small hangar, the door lowered to show no one. Literally, no one. Staying where they were, all Lance could hear was a buzzing noise that had started the moment the ramp had dropped. To him it sounded like ants scurrying around inside his brain. A busy kind of humming that set something inside of him on edge. Waiting on Keith, Keith gave a nod "I'll take lead" Leaving his blaster powered up, Lance nodded. Slipping out the shuttle, Keith scanned the area "It's clear" This didn't make sense. There should have been someone there to great the shuttle. The officers were hired goons who shared a braincell between them. Even a teaspoon was smarter. Not unbelieving of Keith, but rather the situation, Lance raised the blaster to survey the air with the scope. There really was nothing in the docking space... nothing at all "Lance?" "No targets..." Something nagged at him, and it hit on his third sweep of the area "There are no other ships in this hangar... We're going to need to find another way out" Swearing softly, keith ran his fingers through his hair, before scratching at the back of his head "Ok. We'll get up to those gangplanks and follow them through. Hopefully they'll lead to a main corridor or a vent grate" "You have an obsession with vent grates" "It's all about finding what works. Can you make it up the stairs?" One each side of the room was a set of steps leading up to long thin gangplanks. Off centre to the left was what looked like elevator doors. The Cuban was tempted to throw caution to the wind and go for the elevator, yet had no confidence in his own decision making skills "I'll have to be fine, won't I? Let's head out" This was nothing like when they'd drunkenly played at being secret agents on the Atlas. Lance's legs burned, and it was growing increasingly hard to draw a breath. By the time they were halfway up the steps, he was sweating so profusely that he was wondering if this was how Coran felt with a case of the "slipperies". Still, he kept his mouth shut and ignored how good Keith's arse looked as he pressed on. Leandro didn't have time to ogle his teammates. Reaching the top of the steps, Keith immediately turned left to head back along the gangplank towards the elevator. Wiping the sweat out his eyes with bandaged hand, it wasn't until a few ticks later that he could make out what seemed to be a door at the end of it. Trust Keith to find the answer to the question before it was even asked. This is why everyone needed Keith, and no one needed him. He was useless on his own. A failure as team leader, and a failure of a boyfriend. Stumbling on behind Keith, he couldn't get rid of the buzzing or the voice in his head, so chalked them both down to him going through withdrawal again. He'd only taken the bare minimum with him when he'd met up with Th'al. Hiding his injections from her had been awkward, and he'd barely had enough for the trip. All of this was something that had come to mind without invitation and was now spurring on that voice again. God. Why couldn't he stop being a nasty little bitch? Right. Withdrawal. He'd brought all of this on himself. Reaching the door, Keith tried to the handle. Both of them blinking in confusion at the blue light that bathed the corridor ahead of them. It reminded Lance of the ocean... only this blue light was coming from status pod after status pod... that looked eerily like the rows of status pods in the castle... with a sharp, almost mechanical grating noise, the pressure in his head swelled all at once, Lance stumbling hard into the closest pod as both hands went to his head. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right with all of this... Grabbing Lance by the wrists, Keith pulled his hands away from hair as Lance whimpered. The sounds in his head becoming less like busy worker ants and more like a muddled conversation he couldn't tune into. Released by Keith, he next found himself pushed up by the shoulders against the pod. His boyfriend's lips were moving, but he couldn't hear anything over the noise. Shaking his head, Keith didn't get what was happening "I can't hear you!" Lance had no idea how loud the words were, only that Keith flinched, so he was probably yelling. Starting to speak again, Lance shook his head again at the half-Galra "Something's wrong. We need to go" Releasing the pressure against Lance's shoulders, Keith stepped back to grab up the blaster and push it into his hands. Pointing along the hall, Lance nodded that he got that that was the way Keith was leading them. Moving away from the pod, some kind of guilt niggled at him over being pushed up against what was essentially someone's grave. Turning to look, he found himself eye to eye with a withered Galra. He knew he should look away, but the Galra's eyes were open and he physically couldn't break the connection. The glass between them sliding up, though Lance didn't know. His body seemingly paralysed on the spot... Gradually an image filled his mind, so real that it became his reality. Keith was laying in pool of blood. The Galra missing most of his right side. His internal organs spilling out from where his hands tried to hold them in. Hacking up blood, Keith raised his head to gaze in Lance's direction, bloodied lips forming words that Lance shouldn't have even able to hear perfectly "You did this to me" Five small words that had him screaming. In front of him, a shot came out of nowhere, Keith's brains blown across the ground he was laying on. All at once, everything disappeared. Lance looking down to find blood splattered across the stolen uniform and the Galra dead at his feet. "Lance? Lance, are you back with me?" Swallowing hard, Keith's words were slight clearer, even with the ringing. Had Keith raised his voice, or was this related to the now dead Galra? "Yes... I..." His whole body trembled. He could see Keith in front of him, like the lingering image of whatever that had been had branded itself in his brain. Tilting sideways, Keith caught him before he could hit the ground "What happened?" "You died. You died right there" "Babe, I'm not dead. But we're going to be if we don't move" That... his heart was racing. He could smell blood. He couldn't... Keith like that... it was a very real possibility "Babe, breathe. I'm ok" Keith was starting to fade out again as the buzzing began to grow again. When his boyfriend pulled on his hand, forgetting the whole finger thing, Lance let himself be pulled along. This planet... wasn't a planet... this wasn't right... Pod after pod passed. The lights too painfully familiar. Running into Keith's back, Lance span back to face the way they'd come. If they were being attacked by an enemy in a frontal assault, Keith would have released his hand and charged. Behind them, half a dozen withered aliens stood facing them. Lance beginning to feel himself being drawn into their gazes... images of Keith starting to push into his head. Ripping his gaze away, he hit his left hand back against Keith's leg, focusing on the pain and using that to break the lulling spell "Don't look at them!" Keith didn't move behind him. Spinning back, Lance threw his right arm in front of Keith's face to break his line of sight. All at once, Keith let out a sob and fell to his knees "Don't look at them. They show you bad things!" "Lance..." Ignoring the burning in his legs and the way he landed poorly as he dropped to kneel, Lance looped an arm around Keith's chest and pulled him up, aiming the blaster at the knee of the alien in front of them before firing "Lance..." "Keith, keep your head down, we need to move!" "You were... you were bleeding out... you were pregnant and bleeding out... I... you" "Yeah, buddy. I saw you dying... This ship, its Altean. It's not a planet at all. I can hear something in my head... like it's calling out to me" "Oh god... that was..." "Not real" Telling Keith firmly, Lance dragged him forward "I can walk" "Ok, but don't look them in the eye..." Firing and striking blindly, the numbers were overwhelming, leaving them with no choice but to fall back into the first room that was unlocked. Slamming it behind them, Lance kept his back against it. It was strangely reminiscent of the outpost. People trying to kill them, and the while taking cover in the first room they could. Thankfully no one was hacked to pieces, and there weren't any blue canisters either. The space was clearly a lab, with a clear pipe running down to a stopper over a work bench, inside sat a minimal amount of blue shimmering essence. Quintessence. He didn't need to go any closer to know. Coming to his aid, Keith locked the door by shorting the control panel next to it with one the stolen blades. A control panel they both knew from the castle "This place is Altean?!" Lance nodded, pushing off the door to use the momentum to reach the chair near the work bench. Sitting was a horrible idea, his muscles protesting, but he needed a moment "What the hell is going on here?" Why ask him? Lance had no idea either. This place was supposed to have been under Galra control. It was supposed to have been converted after the end of the war to an ethical containment facility. There was nothing ethical about the withered husks that were chasing them. There was nothing ethical about the tube feeding into the lab they were in. There was nothing ethical about the assault on his mind "Lance?" "Give me a tick" "We don't have a tick. What the quiznak is going on here?" "I don't fucking know! So shut up and let me fucking think!" Snapping at Keith filled him with shame, but Keith had honestly asked for it by pushing. He didn't have any answers for him "This is an Altean ship! Those were Altean pods!" "I know!" "Those people..." "Shut up! I know!" "Did you know about this?! About Altean's involvement?!" Lance balked "What?" "Did you know about any of this?" "How the fuck would I know any of this?! I've never been here!" His head was killing him. The yelling felt as if someone was cleaving an axe into his brain. Closing his eyes, the tried to bring himself back under control, but instead the world span behind his eyelids, and he found himself throwing up in his mouth. The needed off this satellite. No. This ship "Alright. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't believe Coran would sanction something like this" Swallowing hard, Lance chose his words carefully, not able to explain the way the ship was calling out to him "Coran isn't behind this. I get the feeling this ship isn't... new" "Isn't new?" "I think it might be an original Altean ship" "Then it'd be over ten thousand years old" "I know. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel it. Like that Altean. He felt old. I can't explain it. You probably don't even believe it..." "I don't see how it could have lasted that long" Keith had a point. Lance, however, couldn't do the brain. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced himself not to shake his head and send his world spinning again "If this is a ship, there has to be a command centre" Oh no... "Keith..." "If there's a command centre, we can..." "No" "Lance, we can call out for help. Hell, we might be able to fly this thing out of here" "No!" "If we don't..." "If we don't what?! We agreed we were getting out of here. We agreed on that. Now you want to go on a suicide mission. I'm barely standing. You're barely standing. We have aliens who were prisoners here that are out of their pods, trying to kill us both. And neither of us are in peak condition" "Lance, we owe it to the people who disappeared..." "Don't..." "To Kre'el. To Helo. To Guile!" "We can't fight like this!" "We just have to make it to the control room. Once we take command..." "Are you fucking serious?! They've probably sent their main army there!" "There's no one around..." "Which is suspicious as hell!" "We can't let this ship..." "So you care more about everyone else, than you do about me?" Keith stopped mid-fight. His eyes narrowing, knowing exactly where Lance was going with this "I didn't say that" "No, but you want to die" "I don't want to die" "This is literally a suicide mission!" "Not if we can get the ship running..." Was Keith blind? Or simply desperate "They have fucking ion canons out there!" "Then were screwed anyway... what have we got to lose?" "You! I've got you to lose!" "And I've got you! I don't want you to die! I don't want to die! But we can't stay in here..." The pounding on the door was only growing, as were the number of sounds in Lance's head. He couldn't do this. It was a terrible mission. They were going to die "I'm taking point" "Lance..." "If I have..." With a loud bang, the door buckled inwards, the lock wouldn't be holding for much longer "I'm taking point and I'm going to get both of us out of here alive. You're going to get your chocolate. I'm going to make sure of it" Groaning at Keith, now wasn't the time to be thinking of chocolate and lazy cuddles in bed "Fine. But you're fucking explaining to Shiro why we didn't just escape" "I'm sure he'll understand... are you ready?" Ready to rush into their deaths because they didn't know where they were going? Sure. Why not? "Ok, Samurai... I'll follow your lead" Closing the space between them, Lance was baffled at what Keith was doing until his boyfriend reached out to cup his face. His eyes staring into Lance's, like he was searching for something "I know you're hurting, but we're going to end this. I love you, Sharpshooter" "Really? You're going to declare you love me right now?" "If anything happens, I want you to know that" "Then let's make sure nothing happens. I can't let my idiot boyfriend die" Keith raised an eyebrow "Boyfriend?" "Husband. Boyfriend. Whatever. I'm still pissed at you, and this plan is fucking awful, but I still love you the best I can, you annoying pain in the arse" "I know babe. I'm going to make it up to you when we get out of here, so you better be prepared to be swept off your feet" Lance's brain short circuited. A weird kind of smile on his lips that only Keith could cause. Who would have thought the emo kid who couldn't control his emotions would have ever grown into this perfect man in front of him? "I'll take that as yes. Don't forget to keep your head down" "I won't... Don't forget to stay safe" "I won't..." * It was only a matter of time before the withered aliens grew too numerous. Keith taking a blow to his already tender ribs and laying the half-Galra out in front of him. Blood from some unseen wound staining his hands as he pressed against the spot. Lance wasn't fairing much better with the pressure in his head. He had no idea where they were, only that thankfully the pods has ceased opening, but they were still being herded through the ship with no idea how to reach their target. He hated having to shoot to kill, so was aiming for the legs of the aliens as much as possible. This also meant having to drag Keith along at angle that was liable to do him in at any moment. He'd barley been able to drag himself along, let alone his boyfriend. Forced to fall back another two corridors, Lance didn't realise his mistake until his back hit the wall of the ship and he found there was no where to go. Every hall looked the same; a stretching expanse of blue with pods lining both sides holding their sleeping prisoners for what was supposed to be eternity. Hiking Keith up in his arms, Keith groaned at him from having his bleeding wound disturbed. Mumbling something at him, Keith found the energy to push him against him, both of them losing their balance, only to find themselves suddenly falling backwards. So not a wall? Confused and winded, Lance gasped as he tried to draw in breath, his vision swimming as he tried not to pass out in pain. Through watery eyes, his vision swam as he was blinded by the yellow light above him. What the quiznak had happened? Before he could form any chain of intelligible thought, hands had grabbed him, pulling him to his feet. To his side, out of sight, Keith was yelling. Probably suffering the same treatment as him. Beneath them came a hum, Lance's stomach dropping for a moment before dimly realising they were in an elevator of some kind. Not a standard elevator, but some kind of service elevator. The grate and the hum was too loud for a passenger elevator, and a red light had begun to flash above him starting as the floor lowered. They should have just stayed holed up in that lab, and shot anything that came through the door. Keith wouldn't have been stabbed if they had. He promised to get him home in one piece. Not one piece and dead. When the hum of the elevator servos died, the red light above pulsed twice before turning off, doors opening in front of them... but there was no shoving push out the space. The feeling of hands fading as if they'd never been there... This ship was seriously messing with him, Lance finding no one behind him, despite the fact someone had clearly pulled him up. No. Someone had pulled both of them up. Keith was leaning heavily against the elevator wall, Lance unsure if he was talking or not because of the noise in his head. Limping over to Keith, Lance pulled Keith into him. God. He was going to sleep for a fucking phoeb once they got out of here. Pulling Keith out of the elevator, Lance stared with wide eyes at the various ships in the hangar in front of them. The space stretched far beyond what Lance could see. Ships from what would be every era lay there like they'd been forgotten. Drag-limping Keith along, Lance moved them towards the nearest ship. Thick dust covered the windows, but the ramp was down and Keith needed tending to. It damn near killed Lance getting Keith up the ramp. Barely able to keep Keith from falling face first to the floor as he lower him down as gently as he could. Coughing from the dust stirred by them, Keith grabbed at his side. Despite the uniform Keith was wearing being predominantly black, there was a clear difference in shades where Keith had been stabbed. Kneeling down beside his boyfriend, Lance pushed his shirt up. Whimpering at the sight of Keith's bruised and busted chest. The handle of one of the knives they'd taken has splintered and stabbed into Keith's side. Mumbling softly, Keith was more out of it than with it, but as his lips mumbled "Lance", Lance felt a surge of affection for him that nearly had him in tears. Keith needed to come first. No matter what the cost. They'd gotten enough answers. This ship was Altean. There were bad Altean's out there. Their motives unknown but couldn't matter less when Keith was laying there bleeding beneath him. Using one of the two knives Keith still had, Lance cut the cloth he'd been using as a mask nearly in two, he needed the extra length to fit around Keith's chest, but if he'd cut it all the way he would have had to knot it and loose precious centimetres from the length. Cutting, then ripping, he ruined the shirt he was wearing as he turned it into a pad to place against the wound sight, before having to fight off a cranky Keith to get the black around him and secured into place, feeling guilty about how tightly the fabric was cutting into his love's soft light skin. With his own bandaged hand, it took nearly a varga to complete what would normally be a simple task. The dressing was rough and crude, but it'd do its job and that was all Lance could ask for. Repositioning Keith on his side, Lance forced himself back down the ramp as he looked for a way out of the hangar. They couldn't shoot their way out, then fly to freedom. The ion canons would blow them up within ticks. He also couldn't carry Keith any further with him. If they tried to hole up and wait for safety, his brain was likely to turn to hoop and pour from his nose with the pressure within his skull. Swearing softly, Lance turned back to the ship where Keith was. If he could just... make sure Keith would be rescued... Fuck... There was too much to do and no time to do it. He needed to head back up the ramp... and he needed his blaster back. Returning to the inside of the ship, Lance undid the communicator from Keith's wrist, hoping it was the one he'd called Shiro from. The signal would give them away, but what choice did he have but to hope that someone would hear his pleas for help. Thumbing his way through the devices menus, he pulled up the call logs, the last number had to be Shiro through logical deduction. He didn't want to see Shiro, let alone hear his voice, but Keith needed him. Hitting call on the device, nothing happened. Hitting call over and over, nothing happened. The signal must have been blocked by ship, because the device seemed to be in functioning condition. Nearly screaming, he forced himself not to throw it. Placing it down with Keith, Lance dropped back against the bare wall of the ship's loading area. He couldn't call for help... Keith was going to die and he couldn't do anything fucking right. Covering his face with his hands, sobs erupted from the Cuban suddenly and violently. Keith was his whole fucking world. He'd pushed himself to absolute limit and now he wasn't even able to move. They were going to die on this godforsaken ship where no one knew where they were. His parents were going to get the news that he and Keith were missing all over again. He'd ruined their lives over and over. He'd scared his cousins, Nadia and Sylvia. Screamed himself stupid every night and woken the whole damn house up. He jumped at every touch and didn't feel like he belonged at home anymore... but he didn't want to just die and leave his mother like that. He didn't want to die and leave Shiro knowing he was right, that Lance was completely useless and worthless like Kuron had said over and over. But his body wasn't healing like it did. Everything hurt so damn much. Even being stupid while leading the team, he hadn't taken damage like this. Even crashing back into Keith's life literally, hadn't hurt like this. What hurt worst out of everything was that none of this would have happened if he hadn't run away.

[starlit-scifi]

Chapter 2

First•Next

Ping.

Your headset rings through your dozy state and you realize you’re asleep at the desk in a study room. You pick yourself up and wipe the little bit of drool from the corner of your mouth. You were having such a nice dream...

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Who could be messaging you so urgently? You groggily bring up your mailbox to find five new messages from Lorina. That wakes you up, and you swipe them open.

-Just a reminder, assignment number five is due tomorrow.

-Also, do you have the data from yesterday? I accidentally deleted it.

-(Lorina E. has sent you an invitation to TWELFTH ANNUAL UNITY ACADEMY WELCOME BALL)

-Sorry! That was a mistake, please disregard it.

-Unless you wanted to go, of course.

Your heart is pounding, though that’s probably just because you were startled awake.

-Ice liver to bop

-What?

You cringe and pay more attention to your fingers as you pick out each letter individually.

-I’d love to go. Sorry, I just woke up!

-OK, when you’re more awake we can work out the details.

You have to be dreaming. You just have to. Things like this just don’t happen. You’re going to wake up and have to get back to studying any minute now.

But ten minutes later, when you’re sitting in your room with a steaming cup of inky caffeine-laced liquid that supposedly resembles coffee, the invitation still sits in your inbox, totally (well, virtually) real, fancy letterhead and all. You’re jittery, and you’re not quite sure if it’s the caffeine anymore.

-I’m ready.

It’s more to reassure yourself than to tell her. She pops online almost immediately and sends you her schedule for that evening. You don’t have anything to do then, since it’s a weekend and you’re not really into the whole “watch movies and gossip while under the influence of certain substances” scene that most of the rest of your peers take part in. Everything else you’d need seems in order: you have a dress from your secondary school senior ball that you'd packed on the off-chance that you'd go to another one. The dress certainly fits the occasion; whether it fits your slightly fuller curves is an important question. Otherwise, shoes, makeup, hair... There’s nothing stopping you.

You search around your cluttered desk for that half-finished package of crackers, because it’s definitely all that caffeine on an empty stomach that’s making your heart beat fast and your stomach uneasy. As you munch on a somewhat stale cracker, you confirm to her that you can attend the event.

-Great. So, that data?

---

The night of the ball rolls around. After a brief struggle, you manage to fit into your dress. Your makeup is passable, your hair cooperates for once, and your shoes don’t seem like they're going to completely destroy your feet… even after you spend ten minutes anxiously pacing around your dorm room, waiting for her.

Finally you give in and send her a message.

-Hey, are you ready yet?

-Almost. Sorry, my meeting ran late. Meet me in the main hall?

-Sure.

You spend another few minutes pacing anxiously in the hall, glancing up periodically as people trickle out of the dorms. You’re just about to send off another message when the elevator arrives.

There she is, gorgeous in her dress uniform, everything pressed into place and polished to shining, a scowl on her face that you’re pretty sure isn’t meant for you. She mutters something under her breath as she adjusts her collar.

“Hm?”

“This is not going to be fun,” she says bluntly. You almost want to ask why she offered to go in the first place, but she definitely seems to be in a bad mood.

“Well, there’ll be food, and what more can you ask?”

She exhales a laugh through her nose. “Let’s get going,” she says, and starts walking at a brisk pace. You scurry after her, balancing precariously in your seldom-worn heels. As you enter the central part of the ship, the clusters of mingling people pause their chatter as you walk past, and you’re intensely aware that those typical hushed comments are now also directed at you, and at the spectacle that is the both of you.

So of course you trip on a corner of the hastily-put-down carpet.

And of course she’s right there to catch you easily in one arm, pulling you in towards her. She’s so close you’re sure she can feel how fast your heart is pounding, and she stares at you intensely and says, barely above a breath:

“Fix your dress. It… slipped.”

You look down and turn beet red, and do your best to discreetly shove your boob back where it came from. Only then does she release you, and you stand there, reeling.

“You okay?” She asks softly.

You nod quickly, then reconsider and shake your head. “I’m going to go find a restroom,” you mumble.

There’s a bit of concern in her eyes. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“Uh. Yeah.” You clench your fists to stop from shaking, and the feeling of your nails digging into your own flesh starts to bring you back to reality. The nearest restroom is, blessedly, empty, and you dab cool water on your neck and decolletage, because no way in hell are you ruining your makeup. She rests against the wall and fiddles with her watch as you attempt to prod your hair back into place. After a while you notice she’s observing you curiously. You give her a questioning look and she shrugs. “I like what you did with your hair. It’s nice.”

“I can do yours sometime,” you offer impulsively, and you realize you really do wonder what she looks like with her hair down.

She smiles that one-sided smile but shakes her head. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t go out of your way.”

“You’re already going out of your way for me,” you point out. She shrugs.

“Not really. Besides, you having a chance to improve your networking skills is a good thing. You can do the networking for the both of us.”

“I thought we were mostly here for the food,” you joke back. At least, you think she was joking.

She chuckles. “Well, yes. But I’m almost positive it’s the same stuff from the dining hall, just actually cooked with care and on nicer plates.”

“Shh, you’ll ruin the moment.”

Now she really laughs, and it’s rich and warm and lovely.

“We just can’t miss out on that. Ready?”

You look back at the mirror, take one last poke at your curls, and decide this is the most composed you're going to get tonight. You give her your best attempt at a smile, and she returns her own, thin but genuine.

As you walk down the hall side by side for the second time, she prods you gently in the side with her elbow.

“What?”

“Put your arm in mine. It’s proper. Also, you need me for balance.”

You open your mouth to protest, but realize she’s half-joking and half just being nice. So you do, and as you get closer to the ballroom (well, the temporarily redecorated giant multipurpose room that usually serves as the gym) you notice her straighten her posture, lift her chin, her eyes growing colder and sharper with every glance and murmur from your classmates. You gently squeeze her tense bicep, and when she glances over at you, slightly alarmed, you smile, and mouth “breathe”.

She nods seriously and says in your ear, “I’m trying.”

Inside, soft music plays and most of the people in attendance are sitting around, chatting in tight groups and glancing around distrustfully at the other cliques that have formed. Really, any sort of social function in this place is sort of doomed: The cultures of Irthtu and the seven other human colonies are all too different from each other. Some, like you, who come from more cultured (well, affluent) backgrounds were taught the traditional formal dance styles of Old Earth, but family politics make it really difficult to socialize with the most of the Tusies, no matter how little you try to care about those decades-long feuds. Either way, it seems like Lori is heading straight for the nearest empty pair of chairs, which you gratefully accept. Your shoes aren’t that comfortable.

“Do you like to dance?” she asks, and it doesn't seem like just small talk, there’s genuine interest in her eyes.

You shrug. “Not like this. I’ve taken formal lessons, and I went to a few parties in secondary, but nobody my age actually dances like this.”

She nods. “I never took lessons, but I partied a bit… Actually, more than a bit, but we probably danced in a completely different style from you.”

“Show me?”

She shakes her head, a tiny wry smile on her lips. “This is way too formal. I couldn’t even move that way in these pants,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “How about you?”

"The music isn't really right, but maybe.” She’s watching you expectantly, so you do your best to shove away your insecurity… and to make sure the rest of you is shoved firmly into your dress. You get up and give yourself a little space, and nervously test out a few simple steps. You find yourself turning your feet and pointing your toes out of habit born from years of classes, and you relax a bit. Your hips and shoulders follow as you drop into the beat of the music. It’s a bit too slow, but you know how to move your body more fluidly now than you did at seventeen.

You turn and glance at her, and she smiles. You smile back and hold out a hand. She looks a bit nervous but takes it anyway. You take things slowly, doing your best to guide her. She’s not clumsy by any means, but you can tell that she’s focusing more on moving than just feeling. By the time the song hits the chorus again, though, she relaxes, and just by that measure she's one of the better people you've danced with.

People are starting to take notice. Some whisper and giggle like always, but others actually watch, and soon grab their own partners. Maybe they’re trying to outdo you, maybe they’re actually trying to have fun. You really don’t care, because you’re having fun.

And Lori’s having fun too, glowing under the soft multicolored lights. This is the happiest you’ve seen her, as much as she’s trying to hold up her facade of seriousness. Eventually, she lets it all go, and you’re struck by how pretty her smile is, and how smoothly you move together.

All too soon, the music ends and her hands float up. You follow her almost without thinking, and your fingertips land on hers, in a foreign but sweet gesture.

“Thank you for this dance,” she says with a soft intensity you’d never expected from her. It’s gratitude and joy and you realize this is the most you’ve seen her just be a girl.

“Thank you.” And it’s really just as genuine. You both stare into each other’s eyes, neither of you saying anything, not really knowing what there is to say as the lights come up. Her face is flushed and her hands drop stiffly, any trace of that smile gone. She turns her body and offers her arm again, and you take it as you go find new seats. You try to catch her eye again, but she’s back to being the same unresponsive impenetrable Lorina you’ve always known… Well, really, never known, you realize. Even with everything you’ve heard about her and all the time you spend studying together, you know you’re only scratching the surface of what’s behind those icy grey eyes.

There’s a speech, there’s some food, then everyone starts to dance again, seemingly emboldened by your brazen display of those easy steps from your secondary school graduation ball... and maybe a little wine. But Lori won’t go out on the floor again no matter how much you prod her, so you just leave her be. She’s your stern tall blue-suited shadow for the rest of the night as you force yourself to play good politician’s daughter with everyone who comes up to you.

Eventually you’re tired of socializing, dealing with politics, and the whole being awake thing, too. Lori’s sullen look has started to turn into a straight-up glower, and you decide it’s probably best to call it a night before one of you inadvertently starts some sort of stupid drama.

So she walks you back to your room, stiff and professional, and stands by the door as you unlock it.

You decide to give it one last try.

“Thanks for inviting me,” pause, smile. “I had a great time.”

Maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe you’re just tired, or maybe she is too, because her eyes look a little watery and her voice is rough and low when she says, “So did I.”

The silence between you grows thick. You take a deep breath.

“Goodnight,” You both say, to each other, at the same time. You try to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come out right. She gives a crisp nod and, without another word, turns and walks away.

In the quiet of your empty room you stand by the sink in nothing but your underclothes. You’ve ripped half of the bobby pins out of your hair before you realize you probably should’ve taken a picture while you were still all dressed up.

You probably should’ve taken a picture with her, too.

As if you’ll ever forget how she looked, brass and silver glinting in the light, sandy blonde hair pinned up sleek and perfect, the color of her uniform making the blue in those grey eyes bright and strong…

You take a deep breath and start to clean the makeup off your face.

First•Next

#starlitscifi #chapter #update #original fiction #fun times at space prom

[macblorg]

Get Scurry: The Doomed Colony at easypreyentertainment.com (link in profile). #scurry #comics #illustration #comicbooks https://www.instagram.com/p/BvXTzKhlYpL/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1sd1r1vk2va7x

#scurry #comics #illustration #comicbooks

[gamerdamemedia]

Tales From Fallen London: Abandon All Human Decency, Ship & Hope Who Enter Here

I wrote this vignette 2 years ago based on a failed playthrough of Sunless Sea.  It was a lot of fun to write, so I thought I’d post it here.

My first unlucky avatar was Captain Sibeal Delauncay.  The good Captain, as she preferred to be called at port, was a natural philosopher by trade, & took an old steamer ship, along with her faithful Surgeon, feral & nearly comatose ferret as the ship’s mascot (clearly doomed us from the start) & a crew of eight zailors (no I did not misspell that) out into the dark sea.  Her goal?  To gather enough tales from her adventures to one day retire & publish a novel.

Things began simply enough for Captain Sibeal.  She picked up a passenger who wanted to be taken to a tomb colony, presumably to die — there isn’t exactly a lot of land in Unterzee — & was tasked by the admiralty to check on the ports in the area.  Captain Sibeal chose to remain close to the main port, but did travel to several close islands, learning Secrets that she shared with her Surgeon to gain more insight in the workings of their dark world.  She gained the attention of Zee’s three gods.  She spent one evening in port with a Dapper Gentleman who bid her passionately to keep his locket with her.  She quickly replace her feral mascot with a grumpy cat that snuck aboard at first opportunity who somehow made their cannons work better.  She shot a lot of giant crabs & even a pirate ship once.

It’s hard to say where things began to take a turn for the worse.  Perhaps she should’ve been more adventurous in her explorations.  Perhaps she should have been more diligent in following up with quests.  Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed to smuggle goods for a dark stranger.  Perhaps she shouldn’t have accidentally spent all her meager money on flares when she meant to buy fuel & then couldn’t sell them back for even close to the same price as she bought them!

Who can say?  What can be explained is the series of events that ultimately led to her death.

After running out of fuel & supplies, Captain Sibeal weighed her options & ultimately decided to turn to the gods for help.  It was better than waiting to die.  At least in her travels she had learned a few Secrets, & she whispered this to Salt, the god of horizons.  Rather than bestowing them with much-needed supplies, a white zee-bat, unlike the normal one they kept on the ship for scouting, lighted upon the railing.  Captain Sibeal stared at the zee-bat while it stared back, transfixed by its crystalline eyes.  Her gaze followed as it suddenly flew away into the darkness.  Hearing the crew gasp, Captain Sibeal came to her senses, only to discover that they were now in a new place.  The accursed Kingeater’s Castle, all the way on the other side of the known map!

Accursed god of secrets!  How did this help!?  What good was it to bring them here?  After finding nothing of use on the island, they set out from the desolate castle, praying their meager fuel holds out.  Not wanting to waste anything, the Captain sends out the zee-bat to search for land.  It returned, bringing a report of a place called Saviour’s Rock not far north.  The name offered hope, & the Captain directs the ship northward.

Heading north, they enter the Sea of Statues.  Giant hands protrude from the murky water, as if reaching to the forgotten surface.  Or perhaps they wish to pull the foolish humans down with them.  What lies below, waiting in the unseen?  The crew grows restless in the dark, as they’ve had to douse the running lights to conserve fuel.  It’s a risky gamble.  They need fuel to get out, but will it matter if they’re all insane?

It turns out not to matter either way, as they’ve barely cleared the castle when the engines die.  This time, she turned to Stone.  The only female of the three gods (assuming gods even have physical forms to have genders), perhaps she would hear the lady captain’s plea.  But rather than an offering of Secrets, Captain Sibeal offered of herself.  A great wound for the Wounded.

Thankfully, the Surgeon is able to efficiently bandage the wound.  After, Captain Sibeal paces the deck, anxious that there has been no hint of a reply either way in response to her offering.  Silent gods can be just as terrifying as when they speak.  Suddenly, the engineer runs up to her.  Expecting more bad news, Captain Sibeal is thrilled when he reports, “Captain – there’s more fuel in the bins than I realized.  Just a little.  I’d looked three times. I’m sure it wasn’t there before. But now – it might be enough -“

Silently thanking Stone for offering useful aid (was transporting them here Salt’s idea of helping, or was he just being a jerk?), the crew sets off from the desolate place.  But it wasn’t long before the lack of supplies began to take its toll on the crew.  When the first crewman died, the bo’sun offered a terrible choice: prepare the body for the funeral, or prepare it for a meal?

The idea is tempting, but Captain Sibeal knew order had to be maintained.  The crew was already on the edge of terror.  Having them feast on the flesh of their fallen comrade would only push them further over the tenuous border of sanity.  She dismisses the bo’sun.  They had to retain their humanity.

Sadly, while the crew is giving out, the engine gives out first.  Again, they are stranded without fuel.  It crosses her mind to use a flare, but sadly she’d sold them back.  And this far out, what are the odds that would do any good.  The only knowledge Captain Sibeal possess that might be a boon is her attention of the gods.  Salt was less than no help, & the Captain wasn’t too eager to turn to Stone again so soon.  Besides, as weak as she was from the hunger, Captain Sibeal wasn’t sure she had the strength for another offering.  Storm is the only one left.  The angriest of the three.   Sadly, it wouldn’t be the Captain making the sacrifice this time.

The only fair way to decide is to draw lots.  The loser is swiftly & painlessly killed on the deck.  The few remaining crew watch on silently as his blood slowly spills over the edge of the deck & out into the sea.  No one can stand to look at the other.  Suddenly, there’s a loud crack, & a stalactite falls from the sky, crashing onto their deck.  At first it seems they’ve only drawn the ire of the Storm, given the massive hole in the deck & the second dead crewman.  But as they examine the stalactite, they discover it’s made of ore that can substitute for coal.  They will live another day, but the price of that survival is growing increasingly high.

Captain Sibeal frequently finds her mind wandering.  Thoughts of evenings at the pub, enjoying warm meals & decent wine parade through her mind.  Soon it becomes all she can think about, almost an obsession.  When she begins to eye one of the starving crew, Captain Sibeal shakes herself to her senses.  She must do something to stave off the madness.  She fears what will happen otherwise.

But as more times passes, & more of the crew begin to die, Captain Sibeal knows she has to do something to save her crew.  The inevitable has set in.  The creeping sense that they won’t make it out of here alive gnaws at her mind worse than the blasted, useless ferret.  And if that’s the case, then Captain Sibeal vows to fight as hard as she can against fate, the gods, or whoever else tries to stand in their way.  So when she receives word of more dead zailors, she orders the bo’sun to do what’s necessary.  The Captain salves what little is left of her humanity with the knowledge that they were already dead, & twas better for their bodies to feed the crew than the sea.  But is there coming back from such a point?

The deck is far more silent now.  The only crew remaining is the Captain, the Surgeon, the cat, & two zailors.

Finally, they reach Saviour’s Rock, & there’s a brief moment of hope that their suffering was worth it.  But there is no salvation to be found.  Unless that salvation is in the terrifyingly giant, hairy arms of the spiders scurrying about.  As Captain Sibeal stares at the monstrous webs crossing above them all hope fades like a puff of smoke on the non-existent wind.

All that matters is trying to survive.   So when she sees her crew eating the few rats that remain, she turns a blind eye toward it.  They’d already eaten their mates.  What was a few vermin?  Sadly, for some reason she can’t eat the ferret.

As the engines sputtered into silence, & the warm glow of the lantern fades into nothingness, Captain Sibeal accepts the inevitable.  They must abandon ship.  In such a desolate place, the odds that any will survive in their current state is highly unlikely.

Thus was the fate of Captain Sibeal Delauncay.

#Sunless Sea #failbetter games #gaming #rouge like #why I'd fail as a sailor #GamerDame

[kentxsandersxwriter]

“Meritus Kane”

The neighborhood kids liked Meritus Kane, even though they were told to stay away from him because of his questionable stories about the rocket and his space travels, he had been revered by them as a hero. There were indeed what looked to be scraps of metal and other unknown parts of engine components laying around and Meritus could identify them all, of course with a story attached as to how they came to be abandoned on his property. He claimed to have been the only surviving command pilot of a three man crew on a journey to the other side of Mars -- the dark side -- and was not expected to ever return to Earth, however upon his visit to the red planet he had encountered a colony of inhabitants who helped him survive and ensured his safe return back to Earth. The other two crewmen had evacuated from the crippled module too soon and were instantly sucked out into the black void of deep space, never to be seen again. He had been able to land as a free-fall with what was left of the spacecraft after eighteen months in space, the lack of gravity had worked to his advantage, keeping the spacecraft from smashing into pieces and killing him. Members of the Mars colony came to his rescue after they witnessed the near catastrophe on the barren sandy red surface. Meritus further claimed that he had gone on to stay at the Mars colony for another eight months while a new rocket was being built for his return back to Earth. He learned that the inhabitants would travel there from the Moon to further the development of a gateway passage between the Moon and Mars colonies. Meritus finally claimed that he had been sent on a doomed mission that had been written off as no longer vital for the survival of mankind, leaving his mission to be scrapped and abandoned -- mid voyage -- by a blasphemous incoming reign whose intentions were to keep the population on Earth from leaving, and to suppress any news nor knowledge of space exploration. Setting off a chain of unprecedented events that included the separation of space exploration from any established power in office, whose interests had become focused on mass surveillance, the marketing of bulk collection and metadata for the purpose of corporate, financial and global control. Getting Meritus back to Earth safely would be of great importance, sending information back with him about the interplanetary colonies and his experience. As for the neighboring residents, the amazing adventures of Meritus Kane was just too bizarre to be believed, and at his age of eighty eight, they considered him to be lost in the haze of old age, where reality sometimes gets interrupted by distant memories that have been short circuited through the ravages of time. 

There had been large numbers of society that had already left Earth, thereby creating conflict between the people and the authoritarian entity.  Allowing people to abandon Earth and colonize on other planets, meant losing control of a population already doomed, and that was seeking a new world far away from the impending fallout on Earth. A new space exploration program had evolved, creating a war between the aging officials -- with their draconian law -- and the tech-savvy cyber-sci-warriors who viewed space exploration and colonization as advancement not only for the future, but for mankind as well. They were known by their presence on the dark web as Ludja, proclaiming their radical resistance movement against corporate America and the bureaucratic haze of endless policy and propaganda.

The day came when a young boy Andar, whose fascination with the old man and his rocket would come to know Meritus, and after spending time together talking  -- something no one had ever taken the interest in -- Meritus had something he wanted to share with Andar. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a shiny gold round badge with the inscription : Commander Meritus Kane, Mars 2080, with a rocket encircling a red planet, and underneath were inscribed the words : Excom Tridex Space Exploration Team X.  On the backside of the badge a gold key was fixed in place by a special made clip. He pinned the badge on the young boy’s shirt and with that he then stood up and gave him the official salute, after which Andar then stood up and returned the gesture with glee, sealing their bond and uniting them together as fellow patriots.

A few summers had gone by, and after hearing of Meritus’s passing, the boy -- who by then had matured into a young man -- scurried over to Meritus’s house and was then met by a team of men from Excom, bearing the Tridex Space Exploration patch. They wanted to know more about Meritus Kane and what they had talked about, while other workers were clearing out the scrap metal and other various engine components. They had been placed there by Meritus as a distraction, should anyone come along after his death, however the real treasure of evidence had been safely stored away in an underground vault. Andar had been briefed by Meritus about what might happen after his death, that suits from the deep state would come snooping around and that he was only to speak with members from Excom. Their interest however was to protect the memory of Meritus Kane and to document his mission for history. His return to Earth had been kept secret and had only been covered by the underground news network known as Cyber Edge because the mainstream media was controlled and censored exclusively by the reigning officials and their political agenda.

The men from Excom wanted to know where the key was, and assured Andar that he would be aiding their cause if he complied. He did, but with the agreement that he would accompany them to wherever they were going. Well they didn’t need to go far because upon removal of the key from the backside of the gold badge, set off a blinking pale blue light at the center of the badge where the red planet was located, letting them know that they were within range. With that, Andar led the men from Excom into the house and down to the basement where another pale blue light was blinking on the concrete wall. One of the men holding the badge, held it directly in front of the small blinking light and it stopped, exposing the keyhole inside, he then stepped aside while another member of the four man team inserted the key while the other two men waited for the opening in the floor that would reveal a narrow stairway down eight feet into a small eight foot by eight foot concrete vault. All the information from Meritus’s voyage was in there, including how he made it back to Earth and the sound bites that would prove he had been abandoned for dead on the dark side of Mars. There would be presumed consequences if the information were to be disclosed, however unseating the aging regime would rely upon using the underground dark web and enlisting Ludja to rally up the resistance whose presence had become widely known throughout the tech-net world, furthering the assault on the draconian political reign.

Although he had been rejected by an agenda that had abandoned him, Meritus Kane had simply grown old in a changing world that could no longer hear him, nor had a place for him, that had been taken over by a political machine built throughout decades of inherent family rights and passages. The veil of deceit had been embedded in the population along with targeted political marketing and mass surveillance while the decaying society gave away their freedom and privacy through the bulk collection of metadata until ultimately, they had all become a mistress of the deep state. 

Meritus Kane was given full honor at his private ceremony, located on the Excom property and attended only by the team from Excom and Andar, who would go on to establish himself with the resistance, the dark web and Ludja. From there, the official site -- unidentifiable for the purpose of exposure and disclosure -- Marlek, would manifest itself to continue the assault on the corporate political arena and their draconian agenda.

End ~

kentxsandersxwriter

#mars #deepspace #interplanetary #rocket #colony #gateway #spacetravel #agenda #metadata #society #darkweb #deepstate #surveillance #dailywrites #shortstories #fictionshorts #kentxsandersxwriter

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2017: Pre-Show

15. Iceland: Svala - “Paper” Semifinal 1 - #13

Svala is forty. HAG HAG HAG HAG HAG ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

What’s up with all the Electropop in Semifinal 1 all of a sudden? First Latvia, then Moldova, now this. Bear in mind that I still have to rank FIVE more electropop songs at this point. Such a randomly dominant genre this year <3 Anyway, Svala. Iceland are one of my favourite countries in the WORLD, so I’m always rooting for their success in Eurovision based on principle alone. Hey, no one said this ranking wouldn’t be biased. (in fact, before I started this ranking, I said directly the opposite ^__^ dwi). 

However, as much as I love Iceland, they’re also an EXTREMELY frustrating nation to deal with. By which I mean, they RARELY PICK THE RIGHT SONG!!! Yes, they’re a former colony of Denmark, so #DanishBadTaste has seeped in (also, literally everyone watches and votes in Iceland, including old farts who miss the old halcyon days when this contest was just about music (which, ftr, was never.)) and it shows as they often boot the song which SHOULD win the national selection in the heats. :eyeroll:

Except this time, my preshow favourite actually WON??? I have no clue how it happened but I’m so happy because I LOVED “Paper” at first sight and never expected it could win. “Paper” has many things going for it which caught my eye and turned it into a fave: 

The title: HOW often do you encounter songs which are named “paper”, huh?  The genre: Mid-tempo electropop ballads <3

Svala’s overall LOOK: she’s *got* it:

Svala doesn’t wear fashion. fashion wears HER. 

The support of former Icelandic participants (and fulltime goddeses) Selma and Yohanna:

her silly dancing during the national final, evidenced by her NF performance: 

The English: “JOIN EVERY BIT OF MY TRUTH - COLOUR ME IN WITH YOUR BLUE.” is a golden line, I love it soooo much. (and the rest of the lyrics are also amazing, so).

It’s almost too good to be true, actually? What’s the catch here? Well, there’s two

ALTERNATIVE OPTIONS:

While Svala was my preshow favourite for Söngvalkeppnin, she was actually overtaken by two other acts. :o  Juli & Thordis performed a fun folk duet (Juli is the BOY btw), which was heinously robbed in the first semfinal.

Like, I actually totally expected this to WIN and then it finished 5th in a field of six because Iceland hate fun O__O Fortunately, Dadi Freyr fared way better and managed to score an impressive second place with his ADORKABLE atari-inspired ballad:

This actually OVERTOOK Svala as my favourite by the end and this is perhaps why Svala is only 15th on this ranking rather than, you know, 1st-5th. “Is This Love” is perfect within its genre. So dorky <3 so nerdy <3 so humourous and self-deprecating <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCH ;__; QUALIFICATION ODDS: Poor

The other reason why I’m trying to not get too attached to Svala is because I believe she’s doomed. She has one huge problem in that she, at this point, does not have an ACT. Her current act involves her awkwardly scurrying around the stage in high heels and a white oversized pantsuit. Gaybaiting as it is, that is NOT enough for qualification; not in this semfinal. I don’t want another Gretaesque NQ Trauma; my heart can’t handle it. ;_; However, Svala heralded that she and the Icelandic team are working on a stunning act, so they’d better KEEP THAT PROMISE AND DELIVER. If they do, they could still be a shock qualifier, which is why I rate their chances as poor, rather than doomed. Based on what we know now, however, I expect Svala to Jüri Pootsmann her way into an undeserved low position. Projected placement: 30th-43rd (19th-30th if they fix their act)

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Preshow #Ranking #Iceland #IcelandHaveShittyTasteButNotAsBadAsDenmarks

[manofnosleep]

The Begining: Bruto

 I wish I could say that I wasn't in the house that night, I really do. The night of 1/25/18.  I wish I could say I just robbed the other house down the road because then that would have meant that I wouldn't have been caught up in all this shit now. My name is Bruto, but most of my friends call me Brutus.

Let me take you back to that night, the goddamn night I forgot to check the police scanner.

I had been watching the house all day, making sure that the family who owned it was really on vacation, yeah, it was boring, watching the shadows slowly shift from left to right, and to watch as each singular leaf on the tree in front of the house blew in the wind, but I really could not take. I couldn't afford to fuck this up. I’ve got my brother and sister who need food on their table and less than 900-ish dollars to my name.

About 80% of that money is going towards keeping the shitty, leaking roof over our heads. But, I digress. I waited until midnight because it was the perfect time in the neighborhood to strike, since the majority of the neighbors seemed to be elderly couples, and god knows those poor old guys need their rest. I got up n’ out of my car, and went straight for the east side window, where I savagely broke the lock for it, lifted up the pane, and threw my duffel bag in. Shortly after I did that and checked up and down the street for oncoming traffic, I heard the crunching of gravel and the low growl of an engine down the road, so I did what any logical thief would do.

I threw myself in the window, nearly stabbing myself in the process because of what I kept in my jacket pocket, a foot long baton-flashlight, with a homemade “bayonet”( Just a knife taped to the end of it) attached to its rear end, I kept a Glock tucked under my belt as well, just in case thing turned south. I went into overdrive and grabbed whatever looked pricey and shoved it into my bag, like the medications in the bathroom cabinet, and a few pieces of laid out jewelry on the nightstand

. On one hand, I felt bad about robbing these people. Whoever lived here, was living a good happy life, with pictures of family vacations lining the walls, and not a single alcoholic beverage to be found. Hell, the whole place looked perfect, with no mess to be found, and the little kid’s room clean, with neatly folded piles of laundry in their drawers.

But on the other hand, I had two little mouths to feed, and if I couldn't support them, then those bastard in-laws from my evil bitch of a stepmother’s family would swoop in, and snatch full custody of them away from me. I couldn't let that happen, not again. I fought through hell and back again in the courts just to get them back, I couldn't just let them go through what they put me through...

Days...without food, and when I refused the literal fucking canned dog food they gave me, I got 5 lashings with a leather belt and a bottle of vinegar forced down my throat. God… it was fucking horrible.

Don't you see now, that's why I had to rob the house.

Well, that's why I almost robbed the house. You see, instead of being careful about leaving the house like a smart thief, I straight out jumped out of the window, hoping there wouldn't be any cops patrolling the streets, but low and behold, a single cop is roaming around, and spots me.

I went into a panicked sprint and jumped over the white picket fence like I was back in high school again. I hit the ground running down the back alley, gravel being thrown like shotgun pellets behind me with each step. I thought I was gonna be able to just lose the cop easily, ya know? I thought that maybe, just maybe, the alley wouldn't be big enough for the car, but I guess I was wrong about that too. I looked behind me, and you can guess what I saw. A police car, turning down the alley, hell- nearly DRIFTING after me, and hauling ass down the path.

Now, I don't know if you’ve ever been chased down by 1 ton of JUSTICE, but let me tell ya, it's fucking nerve-racking. First, you hear the sirens, then the commands to stop, and then the engine. You can even feel the strength of the engine through the ground as it accelerates towards you, like an impending doom.

But God must have been watching me that night, or some other celestial and all-powerful being, because I barely spotted the tiniest space in the bushes, big enough for me to leap through, into another yard. As soon as I recovered from being a human javelin for a second, I ran for the back entrance of the house that was right in front of me and got to work on the door. I don't know how thieves in the movies do it, picking doors with leather gloves on, cause let me tell ya, that shit was not easy.

I was about to get through the security pin when I heard a loud metallic smash and the shattering of glass behind me, and not even for a moment did I consider looking back. Cold of me, I know, but you have to understand my position there. I just needed that damn knob to turn and for me to get inside, where I could hopefully lose the cop.

As soon as the lock turned, I looked behind me for a brief second, and my heart stopped. The cop that had just crashed, was beginning to bolt out of her car and make a run for me. I opened the door, nearly shoving it off its hinges in the process, and ran to the other end of the house.

The place was lit with only one flickering light bulb, along with 7 different candles, and as was struggling to find my way around the house interior, I ended up in what I assumed to be the living room, where I could clearly see the signs of a squatter.

Electric stoves and empty cans lied about the place, with the occasional cockroach scurrying away, and a pile of clothes in the corner, which looked like they had been used as a sort of bed. On them were strange stains that I dare not think too hard about. The door out was right in front of me then, and I almost left, I almost got out of that waking nightmare unscathed. But something whispered in my ear to turn around, and when I did, I didn't see an unsavory mess, no. It was like it all disappeared for a second, and only the soft glow of the golden orb laid before me, partially covered by a worn sleeping bag. It called to me, in the voice of… my mother? It whispered sweet little things to me, like how it needed me, how I mattered, and how it could help my brother and sister. I stepped towards it, entranced by its sweet nothings practically streaming out of its nonexistent mouth. I picked it up with both hands and felt no weight like it hovered a millimeter above my palm. I could feel a tingly, warm electricity coming from it, that made all my hairs stand on end. I could only hear one word echoing through my mind when I held it: Power. I shoved the orb into my duffel bag and went back to exiting the house.

 Then I heard whispering, coming from the room connected to the one I was in on the left like someone was reciting a prayer over and over again in a raspy, labored voice. As the prayer continued I could hear it increasing in volume- no, not like that, not like someone was getting louder- like a colony of someones all saying the same thing. It was all the same exact voice too. Eventually, the colony of voices emanating from next room over culminated into a high pitched screech, and a bright orange light flashed from it.

Against my better judgment, I took a few steps toward the entrance way to the room, making sure to walk with the lightest strides. I was so close to entering the room that I could see partially inside of it, but my little peek was cut short by two figures that bolted out of the room with lightning speed. The two of them moved towards me, But I swear I saw another one heading for the door that I came in through. The things, they were both human looking from the waist to their necks, but the other sections of their bodies just looked like a terrible mix and match of flesh and non-mammal attributes.

I couldn't even call them bipedal, because one moved on two arms with razor sharp and rigid claws and one deformed leg, but the other had no arms and just had 3 giant fucking tarantula-esk legs where the human legs should have been. Then their faces, oh god... their fucking faces.

At first, they both looked like they had no face at all, just a blank slate of skin. Imagine a top view of a completely bald head- that's what it looked like. I sat there dumbfounded, backing up and reaching for the exit door handle behind me. Then it all caved in, their damn faces… Both their faces had started to look like their flesh was collapsing inward into their own faces, making disgusting ripping noises with facial tissue, until all there was was a circular black void in the middle of their face. And from those empty voids grew teeth- sharp, jagged fucking teeth in rows that went in spirals around the black void, looking like they were ready to grind whatever came in contact with them, or sharpen one huge ass pencil.

The one with arms was the first to lunge at me, throwing itself like a football player at my waist and knocking me back to the wall. It hit the floor and sprung back up at me with vicious speed that I managed to dodge, but just barely. While it was stunned from hitting the wall behind me, I whipped out my Glock from my belt, fiddled with the safety, and unloaded 7 bullets into that fucker, which it didn't even seem to register. It made another leap for me, but this time I was lucky enough to smack it out of the air with my homemade baton, sending it 3 feet away on its back. From there I wasted no time in trying to take the thing down, and I promptly slammed myself on it's back, and with a swift motion, I brought the sharp end of my baton into its spinal column. It let out a final screech of defeat, before melting into a chunky mess of thick goo. I jumped for the exit and ran like a bat out of hell into the street.

Then I looked back, and from the peripherals of my vision, I saw the backyard of the house. Feeling stupid at that moment for not noticing that I could have just walked around the house instead of fighting with the unholy abominations within it I failed to notice a scuffle going on back there, at least until I heard the gunshots. My eyes darted toward the source of the clearly panicked unloading, only to find the cop that had been chasing my thievin’ ass down earlier.

I saw her propped up against a fence with what looked to be a chunky sewage in front of her, gasping for air, as she gripped the skin just above her ankle, which looked to be in pretty bad shape- and when I say pretty bad, I mean I could see muscle and and other types of flesh falling off the bones. I thought to call paramedics- and I almost did, but then again, that might have been the worst thing to do at that point, seeing as attention was something I was desperately trying to avoid, so I left her there, knowing that  she would have to call for somebody anyway, and by sounds of sirens in the distance, I guessed that she already did.

With the goods in my trusty duffel bag and a slight limp in my step, I started my trek back to my apartment… which was about halfway across town.

Everything was going fine, and no one seemed to be looking for me.

No one was peeking through their blinds

No one was awake

And no one was following me back.

Except for that 2nd fucking abomination that I had completely forgotten about.

I saw it, standing on a rooftop, about a good 90 feet away from where I was standing, unmoving, and silent.

It didn’t even budge when I threw a small rock at it. It just watched me.

And then it scuttled away, behind the house it perched itself on without a single sound.

I went home that night, paranoid about whether it had followed me home or not. I tossed and turned as I tried to shake that feeling away, that feeling of being watched. And for a few nights? I actually shook it off, I was able to feel secure again. But not tonight though.

I saw it again, right before I laid down in my bed, right before my head even hit the heavenly softness of my completely legally obtained new pillow. It was standing outside my window for a brief second, and then,

It scuttled away, whispering something...

something about returning “it”. .

#unfinished series #horror #writers on tumblr #my writing #possibly going to continue

[lit102]

I loved this book when I first read it 3 1/2 years ago. I found it deliciously creepy, gripping, humanistic (I guess) and... baffling. How could someone who wrote a whole book about the power of empathy be homophobic? (This was just after the Ender’s Game movie came out and people were boycotting it so the subject of his homophobia was in the air.)

Upon rereading it, I’m appalled that I ever found it any of those things. This is a profoundly, nauseatingly narcissistic book; the lip service it pays to the power of empathy is actually worship of its protagonist, Ender Wiggin, and through him its author, Card himself. A quick summary: The world of Lusitania, largely Portuguese and Catholic (black Portuguese, specifically, which I bring up because he skirts around race in the weirdest way when he’s not being outright racist), is home to a small human colony and the first sentient alien species discovered since the Buggers (I cannot believe they are called the Buggers, the Buggers!) were exterminated three thousand years ago: the porquinhos, or piggies. The piggies are small bipeds with porcine faces (thus the nickname), separated from humans by a high fence that causes unbearable agony on contact (someone compares it to your fingers being filed off). This is supposed to protect them from cultural contamination, but it’s actually as much—or more—meant for humans, who fear what they don’t understand. The only humans who are allowed contact with the piggies—xenologers, or alien scholars—must try to learn as much about the piggies as they can while revealing as little of themselves as possible: they can’t even ask the questions they’re most want answered, for fear that they’ll give something of themselves away. This policy backfires tragically when the beloved xenologer Pipo is tortured to death by the piggies, and the young orphaned biologist Novinha, who loved him as a father, sends out a call for the nearest Speaker for the Dead — which happens, of course, to be none other than Ender Wiggin himself.

Ender and his kind play the role of secular priests, who investigate and then “speak” peoples’ lives, warts and all. They “[hold] as their only doctrine that good or evil exist entirely in human motive, and not at all in the act” (35), a doctrine of which I am deeply suspicious but that undergirds the whole book. Ender is the original speaker: three thousand years ago, he wrote a book called The Hive Queen and the Hegemon that spoke the Buggers’ death and taught humanity that they were worth mourning. Now, he wanders the worlds, just thirty-five years old because of the way space flight works, seeking a home for the last living Bugger hive queen and an end to the guilt that eats him up inside: guilt for the xenocide that made him the universe’s most hated man. When he hears that the piggies have tortured a human to death, he knows he must answer Novinha’s call. (He’s also attracted to her even though she’s twelve or thirteen years old, but whatever.) This is his chance to make peace between human and alien — to earn redemption for the role he played in the human/alien war that left all but one alien dead. So off he goes to Lusitania. When he arrives — two weeks later for him and like twenty years later for the colony — Novinha is grown, freshly widowed by a physically abusive man, and consumed by a secret guilt of her own; her household is tearing itself apart from the inside; and the piggies have murdered Pipo’s son and successor, Libo. It’s Ender’s job to make sense of all this in time to prevent intergalactic war and — most importantly — to redeem himself. 

Rereading this, I realized what a blatant author surrogate Ender is. Not only he is literally a writer, his book is powerful enough to literally become the piggies’ religion. His word is God. He’s also flawless. Yes, he murdered countless aliens, and he’s wracked with guilt, but his redemption feels inevitable from the start — and not only that, the one surviving Bugger forgives him, because she understands his motives in slaughtering her species. Motives, as we know, are all that matter in the moral universe Card has created, and because we know Ender’s, he’s also redeemed in the reader’s eyes; his guilt is nothing more than a narrative hoop for him to jump through. (Not only that, he makes the hoops; as Speaker for the Dead, he first acts as his own accuser, then as his own judge, ruling — unsurprisingly — his favor.) Moreover, most of the characters worship him. Some literally. The AI Jane — the most ancient, knowledgeable, and powerful being in the known universe — refers unironically to his “genius” (62): “his genius — or his curse was his ability to conceive events as someone else saw them” (65). In other words, he has... empathy. Something that most humans have (and something that women have more of than men, I might add). However, in Ender, empathy is almost supernatural; it gives him the godlike ability to know (“no, not guess, to know” [65]) people without even speaking to or spending time with them. (“It was as if he were so familiar with the human mind that he could see, right on your face, the desires so deep, the truths so well-disguised that you didn’t even know yourself that you had them in you” [234–35].) Just like the author knows his characters. He can also make them worship him — again, some of them literally. Ender’s sister Valentine refers breathlessly to her brother’s “brilliant understanding of human nature” (75). His nieces and nephews think of him as “something of a savior, or a prophet, or at least a martyr” (82). Novinha’s feral children fall in love with him — as does, of course, Novinha herself (“his eyes were seductive with understanding. Perigoso, she thought. He is dangerous, he is beautiful, I could drown in his understanding” [129]. Gag me). Jane, the AI, is bored by literally every other human in the universe (”when she tried to observe other human lives to pass the time, she became annoyed with their emptiness and lack of purpose” [175]). Take this appalling passage:

Through his eyes [Jane] no longer saw humans as scurrying ants. She took part in his effort to find order and meaning in their lives. She suspected that in fact there was no meaning, that by telling his stories when he spoke people’s lives, he was actually creating order where there had been none before. But it didn’t matter if it was fabrication; it became true when he spoke it, and in the process he ordered the universe for her as well. He taught her what it meant to be alive. (175)

And the piggies, though they reject Christian scripture, turn The Hive Queen and the Hegemon into their bible. It’s like... jaw-droppingly blatant, isn’t it? Even when characters hate him, they elevate him, like the Bishop who claims he’s “as dangerous as Satan” (298).

Card’s message in Speaker for the Dead is clear: “When you really know somebody, you can’t hate them” (370). For him, to know is to love, whether you’re knowing the alien who tortured your father to death or the husband who beat you for years or the man who slaughtered your entire species. 

[W]hen it comes to human beings, the only type of cause that matters is final cause, the purpose. What a person had in mind. Once you understand what people really want, you can’t hate them anymore. You can fear them, but you can’t hate them, because you can always find the same desires in your own heart. (370)

The problem is, he’s created a story in which this must be true. The piggies who tortured Libo to death didn’t know they were torturing him; they thought they were giving him their highest honor. Ender was a child when he slaughtered the Buggers, and he thought it was them or us, that he was dooming humanity if he didn’t. Card makes empathy easy, uncomplicated, for his characters and the reader, and in this way robs it of all its power: he makes it the simplest and most obvious choice. That’s because this book isn’t truly about empathy at all: it’s about deifying himself in fictional form. 

Stray observations:

Because Novinha blames herself for Pipo and Libo’s death, she endures her husband’s physical abuse as a form of punishment (“It’s no more than I deserve” [125]). The Bishop sanctions this as her “penance” for adultery later on. Foul.  

Most of the Lustanians are supposedly black, but none of the characters are described as black (except Bishop Peregrino, whose face had “a pinkish tinge under the deep brown of his skin” [155], which to me seems like a profound misunderstanding of how dark skin works?), and Novinha’s hair reads as a white woman’s hair to me, or at least not a black woman’s, though I guess he’s not explicit about it. Oh and also, Ender is lily-white, startlingly white, in a way that evokes unsavory white savior imagery. (When he’s speaking Novinha’s husband’s death, in front of a huge crowd, “his white skin made him look sickly compared to the thousand shades of brown of the Lusos. Ghostly” [257].) He’s also compared to Pizarro. 

The colony is very conservative, which Card actually celebrates: “If there were no powerful advocate of orthodoxy, the community would inevitably disintegrate. A powerful orthodoxy is annoying, but essential to the community” (158). Etc. Marriage and monogamy are highly valued.

The piggies are super sexist. Theirs is supposedly a matriarchal society, in which the females have all the power, but in fact they get pregnant, give birth, and are eaten by their babies in their own infancy. The matriarchs are sterile, which is why they survive to adulthood. When a character suggests helping the fertile females survive as well, Ender replies “To do what? They can’t bear more children, can they? They can’t compete with the males to become fathers, can they? What are they for?” (325). A female named Shouter supposedly rules the tribe, but a male named Human is Ender’s ambassador; he — again, a male — is the most important piggy in this story. Piggy society is a misogynistic man’s idea of matriarchy — on other words, not a matriarchy at all.

#speaker for the dead #orson scott card #read in 2017 #books in 2017

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: New Art from China Renders Local Histories Fantastic, Futuristic, and Bloody

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s “Can’t Help Myself” (2016) (all photos courtesy of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum)

In the corner of a small gallery on an upper floor of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, you are immersed in a bloody, bizarre, and strangely emotional tableau. Inside a floor-to-ceiling acrylic cage, a black robotic arm twirls around, sweeping bloody residue on the floor towards itself. Just as the arm’s plastic flap cleans one area, more liquid oozes out elsewhere. The artists Sun Yuan and Peng Yu have given the poor robot an impossible job — the piece, called “Can’t Help Myself,” dooms the arm to this repetitive, hopeless, horrific task. The arm uses sensors to choose where it will sweep next, but at times it whirls and flails as if overwhelmed, giving the arm an eerily humanoid feel.

The installation is a highlight of Tales of Our Time, a dynamic and tightly curated exhibition at the Guggenheim. This robotic arm could be an icon for the present moment. It makes tangible, for our globalized and industrialized world, the metaphor of “clean hands.” Do we identify with the robot and its attempt to make order out of the violent mess around it? (Isn’t this how it feels to respond to each new appointment by the president-elect, each white power rally?) Or is the robot simply there to do what most refuse to, performing the messy labor of waste management that allows our societies to function?

It’s a shock for anyone coming to the Guggenheim expecting to kick back with Kandinsky and Cézanne. Tales of Our Time is a small but ambitious show, presenting just seven artists or collectives, with nine works in total. Each of these thoughtful, well-realized works offers an investigation into global politics, the contemporary as historical, and environmental collapse, with room to laugh, rest, and think in between.

The nine works are commissions, generated after a series of studio visits with emerging and mid-career Chinese artists by curators Xiaoyu Weng and Hou Hanru. The commissions were paid for by a major grant from the Robert H. N. Ho Family Foundation, and the museum will acquire all of them. The exhibition, then, is like a laboratory: these works are brand new, and are being stamped into the DNA of the Guggenheim.

Chia-En Jao, “Taxi” (2016)

The artist Chia-En Jao, who lives and works in Taipei, created his deceptively simple Taxi films with cab drivers as he visited sites of colonial history around Taiwan. Any New Yorker who has chatted with a cab driver knows that exploring our contested neighborhoods and histories starts on the ride there. In one interview, a driver excitedly describes his firearms, explosives, and parachuting training in the military. When Jao asks what all of it was for, the cab driver talks about the plot to invade the mainland in the late 1960s. We glimpse, in his telling, an alternate history unfold, one in which Taiwan defeats the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and this muscular and garrulous man might be a war hero. Other drivers complain about mainlanders or share their disgust for Taiwanese politics — it’s vox populi, history lesson, and talk show in one.

The politics of the East China Sea appear again in Tsang Kin-Wah’s “In The End Is The Word,” which illustrates a fictional war. In a mural-sized animation, battleships fight over the Diaoyu (or, according to Japan, Senkaku) Islands. In real life, the islands have been disputed fiercely between the PRC, Taiwan, and Japan since oil reserves were discovered there in the late 1960s. In Tsang’s video, just at the battle’s peak, a stream of words appears on the horizon and floods onto the floor of the gallery via powerful overhead projectors. It’s a stunning visual effect, and the sentence fragments — e.g. “the infinite slippage” and “being there at the right” — speak to the posturing and emptiness of diplomatic rhetoric.

Tsang Kin-Wah, “In the End is the Word” (2016)

Sun Xun places the landscape of his hometown of Fuxin into a fantastical mural and animated video where multiple histories, real and imagined, collide. Like William Kentridge’s animated meditations on the landscape and industry of South Africa, Sun’s “Mythological Time” uses heavy brushstrokes and visual rhymes to metamorphose the landscape and its inhabitants. Set to grand, operatic music, we watch crows fly out of men’s chests and tanks roll across mountains; a giraffe becomes a tomb which becomes a communist sculpture; a landscape erodes in the rain. In Sun’s mythical take, industrialization seems to turn us not forward into a glittering future, but backward into tombs, animals, and the elements.

Zhou Tao’s film “Land of the Throat” also shows violently remade landscapes, but in a poetic, futuristic tone. You sit in the bowl of a curved floor, with the two-channel film projected on either side. The room setup reflects the Pearl River Delta seen in Zhou’s camera — abandoned industrial waste, manmade craters. He films them at night or dusk, capturing sleeping workers and animals scurrying around the sites. Shown in these quiet hours, the land is desolate, moonlike. You feel like an alien visitor watching a wasted earth.

Still from Zhou Tao, “The Land of the Throat” (2016)

While Zhou’s film looks at the excesses of contemporary society, Kan Xuan unearths civilizations past. She took a five-month journey across the plateaus of Central Asia searching for remnants of ancient settlements. Her snapshots of those sites are compiled into stop-motion videos, which are hung in the gallery like still photographs. In these 13 videos, the landscapes seem to breathe and pulse, as if being resuscitated.

Nearby, the Yangjiang Group has set up a social space, a riff on the Chinese garden. They serve tea daily, inviting conversation around a series of low tables, with views of the Guggenheim’s outdoor greenery. There is also a station to test your blood pressure before and after visiting, making you question whether the tranquility of the space actually serves a utilitarian, biometric purpose. Who is collecting the data? Are we paying for the tea with our personal information, our vital signs?

As with many of the works in the exhibition, the garden points to an uneasy tension between personal choices and larger power dynamics. A taxi ride is an invitation to ponder history, a group of islands suggests war. If our globalized, industrialized, war-prone world seems incomprehensible, these artists remind us there are at least clues to understanding the places we visit.

Tales of Our Time continues at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (1071 5th Ave, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through March 10. 

The post New Art from China Renders Local Histories Fantastic, Futuristic, and Bloody appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[dammitadolfnomorecake]

CSUAVS prt 35 update. I know what you might think but I'd decided this route before I stalked you

This... This wasn't possible. Sitting in the pilot's chair, trying to manually override the shuttles automatic programming, Lance's heart was pounding almost as fiercely as his head.... and the rest of his body. Keith knew about his finger, but he didn't need to know about the rest of what had happened in that room before he was brought in. There was a reason he wasn't in the same clothes he'd in, and it wasn't just due to the blood from losing his finger. The samples taken from him of a much more intimate nature, because for some reason they knew about his body's "abnormalities". They hadn't gone past probing, but it'd been enough to send him into a panic attack. When they didn't know what to do about it, they'd drugged him up and brought Keith in. Yet, all of that had been pushed aside when he'd seen the dead Altean laying on the floor of the shuttle. The man hadn't looked like that when he was cuffing the other officers together... He'd still looked buff and foreign to him, not being a Galra... but an Altean. Lance had no idea what to do. He wasn't stupid. He knew that there were good and bad people, no matter what the race was... but... he just couldn't... he had no idea what this meant. Lotor had rounded up all the old Altean's to form his new colony, and something about the dead man screamed at him that he wasn't from new Altea. He didn't understand... He really... just... "Lance?" And then there was Keith. Keith who was his whole world. Keith who'd they hurt and Keith who thought he'd murdered the officers on the shuttle. Not that he could blame him. He was a murderer, and he wanted to slaughter everyone who'd touched Keith, but... the look on his face. Lance had never seen something like that... at least not on Keith's face. It'd broken his heart, and nearly sent him spiralling. No. It had sent him spiralling... He was lying to Keith, or rather not telling him the truth because there was literally nothing that could change what had happened in the outpost. There was a dead Altean in the shuttle bay. Keith was hiding how badly busted up he was, and how painful his wrist must be... oh, and they were probably about to die... "Lance?" Nudging his foot with his, Lance winced at the contact. He'd gone from craving Keith's touch, to not being able to handle anything against his skin again "I'm here" His wrapped up left hand made tinkering with wires hard. He'd already been shocked and was sure he'd lit the edge of his bandages on fire in the process "I couldn't hail Shiro or my mother, I did send messages. To the Atlas, and to Daibazaal. If Kolivan's there, he'll coordinate with her" Shiro. Shiro and Krolia. Lance didn't know how he was ever going to face the pair of them again. "Shame" and "self loathing" failed to describe what he felt about the pair. They were the most important people in Keith's life, despite what he might say. They held the most sway over Keith, and both were fiercely protective of him. And now he'd been tortured, kept prisoner, and was sporting some pretty serious damage to his wrist... What if what they'd done to him spelled the end of Keith's work for the Blades? How was he supposed to live with that? He'd been prepared not to come back from all of this... He couldn't go through with Keith to think of. He had to get him home safely and back to his family. It didn't mean Lance didn't believe Keith loved him, but things were going to get messy. No doubt Shiro would lecture him for being reckless. Krolia would be mad for endangering Keith. Veronica and Hunk had to know he'd been lying through his teeth about his job, and Acxa would probably be plotting his death despite the fact Veronica would be mad. Actually. No. They were probably plotting his death together... Going back to all of that wasn't appealing at all. "Did you hear me?" "Yeah. Sorry. I was concentrating on these wires" Another lie. He had no idea what he was doing under there. He'd had to shoot the dash half a dozen times to create a hole big enough for him to get into the wires as it was "Is there anything I can do to help?" "No. To be honest I've never had to climb under the dash of one of these. All these wires look the same" They were all black. He could trace them from the controls, but then they disappeared down into the floor where he couldn't get to them "Come out then. We've got about half a varga until we reach our destination. You need to get changed" So they were going with his plan? Lance had zero confidence that they'd be accepted as officers. Both their body types were wildly off. Keith had the height, but failed on the width. Lance had neither. He also wasn't able to stand upright properly thanks to the pain from probing between his legs. Unfortunately none of their escort were carrying any sedatives or drugs the could used to take the pain away. When he failed to reply to Keith, Keith grabbed by the ankle and pulled, Lance barely able to stop from kicking out in defence at the action that sent his pain ricocheting through his abused body. Everything hurt so badly he didn't know how he was still conscious. Coming out from under the dash, Keith was holding his ribs as he straightened up, reminding Lance that he couldn't show any more pain or discomfort to his boyfriend. He needed to pull on his mask and play Leandro. Leandro could do things that Lance could only dream of. Leandro could save Keith, where as Lance would only slow him down. Maybe there was something on one of the officers he could use to hide his face. He felt naked without his body suit, and ashamed of the flickering marks on his cheeks. He'd copped a glimpse of them in the cold metal under the dash, the pulsing blue almost as cruel as Allura who was standing off to the corner with her arms crossed. She'd already scolded him for his behaviour, talking right over Keith as Keith tried to comfort him. He wanted her gone again. He wanted his head freed of her voicing all his horrible innermost thoughts. It wasn't fair that he had to see her, not when he was in this much pain... and not when there was a dead Altean in the back of the ship. She'd never have understood that Keith killing the man had been accident... She would say she would, but he knew better. Biting the insides of his already chewed up cheeks, Lance was slightly proud that he managed not to moan or groan as he climbed to his feet, brushing past Keith as he headed into the back of the shuttle to prepare. They only had one shot at taking the enemy by surprise, so he had to bring his A game. No matter what it cost him, he needed to save Keith. * Dressed in a stolen uniform, Lance had found a black strip of cloth to cover the lower half of his face with. It didn't hide the shaven part of his head, where they'd taken some kind of sample from inside that he really didn't want to think about, but it did hide his ears and muffle his gasp of surprise. Everyone had called the "satellite" a satellite. Having never been there, and given that access was limited to those who worked at the outpost, Lance never imagined it would be as large as it was. With a main planetary body, of glowing purple, in the middle of the station, various walkways extended out to man-made rings. Despite appearing fixed to be fixed in place by said walkways, the rings also appeared to be rotating, though that wasn't possible. "Are you seeing this?" Given he was right beside Keith, the question was stupid "Yeah... I never knew it was so big" "It's a hell of a lot bigger than I expected it to be" "That makes two of us. It's supposed to be Galran in origin, isn't it?" The ion canons mounted on the four "points" visible to them, would confirm that argument "I think so. I don't know about the planet though" "I guess we're about to find out" Cutting through the artificial lights and the darkness of space, a tractor beam was projected from the planet. The shuttle shuddering as it was caught in its beam. This was it. This was go time "We should get in the back. You've got the three blades, don't you?" Keith nodded "Yeah, and the blaster" Shiro hadn't replied, neither had Krolia. With all the hinky time stuff going on out in this sector of space, Lance had no idea how much time had passed for either of them. Or for his team. Daehra wasn't going to be happy "Good. Remember the plan?" "If it moves, take it down. But try to stay out of sight" Keith sounded like he'd repeated the words a million and one times. They hadn't been able to get to the control room of the outpost, and with how wounded they were, they were now focusing on escaping rather than capture. Thought that plan might have to join the others in scrap heap because he had no clear idea how the quiznak anyone could possibly escape when the place looked like death. Maybe they should have just enjoyed the ride in the back? They wouldn't have been subjected to the crushing doom that was flooding through them right now. Lance liked to pretend Keith was feeling just as uncertain as he was, despite the fact Keith had probably done the very same thing in nearly matching circumstances before. He knew his accidental husband had issues with satellites after the Kuron thing, so knew that there was no way Keith was feeling as cool as he looked "Yeah. Right. Let's get ready" Coming to a stop in a small hangar, the door lowered to show no one. Literally, no one. Staying where they were, all Lance could hear was a buzzing noise that had started the moment the ramp had dropped. To him it sounded like ants scurrying around inside his brain. A busy kind of humming that set something inside of him on edge. Waiting on Keith, Keith gave a nod "I'll take lead" Leaving his blaster powered up, Lance nodded. Slipping out the shuttle, Keith scanned the area "It's clear" This didn't make sense. There should have been someone there to great the shuttle. The officers were hired goons who shared a braincell between them. Even a teaspoon was smarter. Not unbelieving of Keith, but rather the situation, Lance raised the blaster to survey the air with the scope. There really was nothing in the docking space... nothing at all "Lance?" "No targets..." Something nagged at him, and it hit on his third sweep of the area "There are no other ships in this hangar... We're going to need to find another way out" Swearing softly, keith ran his fingers through his hair, before scratching at the back of his head "Ok. We'll get up to those gangplanks and follow them through. Hopefully they'll lead to a main corridor or a vent grate" "You have an obsession with vent grates" "It's all about finding what works. Can you make it up the stairs?" One each side of the room was a set of steps leading up to long thin gangplanks. Off centre to the left was what looked like elevator doors. The Cuban was tempted to throw caution to the wind and go for the elevator, yet had no confidence in his own decision making skills "I'll have to be fine, won't I? Let's head out" This was nothing like when they'd drunkenly played at being secret agents on the Atlas. Lance's legs burned, and it was growing increasingly hard to draw a breath. By the time they were halfway up the steps, he was sweating so profusely that he was wondering if this was how Coran felt with a case of the "slipperies". Still, he kept his mouth shut and ignored how good Keith's arse looked as he pressed on. Leandro didn't have time to ogle his teammates. Reaching the top of the steps, Keith immediately turned left to head back along the gangplank towards the elevator. Wiping the sweat out his eyes with bandaged hand, it wasn't until a few ticks later that he could make out what seemed to be a door at the end of it. Trust Keith to find the answer to the question before it was even asked. This is why everyone needed Keith, and no one needed him. He was useless on his own. A failure as team leader, and a failure of a boyfriend. Stumbling on behind Keith, he couldn't get rid of the buzzing or the voice in his head, so chalked them both down to him going through withdrawal again. He'd only taken the bare minimum with him when he'd met up with Th'al. Hiding his injections from her had been awkward, and he'd barely had enough for the trip. All of this was something that had come to mind without invitation and was now spurring on that voice again. God. Why couldn't he stop being a nasty little bitch? Right. Withdrawal. He'd brought all of this on himself. Reaching the door, Keith tried to the handle. Both of them blinking in confusion at the blue light that bathed the corridor ahead of them. It reminded Lance of the ocean... only this blue light was coming from status pod after status pod... that looked eerily like the rows of status pods in the castle... with a sharp, almost mechanical grating noise, the pressure in his head swelled all at once, Lance stumbling hard into the closest pod as both hands went to his head. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right with all of this... Grabbing Lance by the wrists, Keith pulled his hands away from hair as Lance whimpered. The sounds in his head becoming less like busy worker ants and more like a muddled conversation he couldn't tune into. Released by Keith, he next found himself pushed up by the shoulders against the pod. His boyfriend's lips were moving, but he couldn't hear anything over the noise. Shaking his head, Keith didn't get what was happening "I can't hear you!" Lance had no idea how loud the words were, only that Keith flinched, so he was probably yelling. Starting to speak again, Lance shook his head again at the half-Galra "Something's wrong. We need to go" Releasing the pressure against Lance's shoulders, Keith stepped back to grab up the blaster and push it into his hands. Pointing along the hall, Lance nodded that he got that that was the way Keith was leading them. Moving away from the pod, some kind of guilt niggled at him over being pushed up against what was essentially someone's grave. Turning to look, he found himself eye to eye with a withered Galra. He knew he should look away, but the Galra's eyes were open and he physically couldn't break the connection. The glass between them sliding up, though Lance didn't know. His body seemingly paralysed on the spot... Gradually an image filled his mind, so real that it became his reality. Keith was laying in pool of blood. The Galra missing most of his right side. His internal organs spilling out from where his hands tried to hold them in. Hacking up blood, Keith raised his head to gaze in Lance's direction, bloodied lips forming words that Lance shouldn't have even able to hear perfectly "You did this to me" Five small words that had him screaming. In front of him, a shot came out of nowhere, Keith's brains blown across the ground he was laying on. All at once, everything disappeared. Lance looking down to find blood splattered across the stolen uniform and the Galra dead at his feet. "Lance? Lance, are you back with me?" Swallowing hard, Keith's words were slight clearer, even with the ringing. Had Keith raised his voice, or was this related to the now dead Galra? "Yes... I..." His whole body trembled. He could see Keith in front of him, like the lingering image of whatever that had been had branded itself in his brain. Tilting sideways, Keith caught him before he could hit the ground "What happened?" "You died. You died right there" "Babe, I'm not dead. But we're going to be if we don't move" That... his heart was racing. He could smell blood. He couldn't... Keith like that... it was a very real possibility "Babe, breathe. I'm ok" Keith was starting to fade out again as the buzzing began to grow again. When his boyfriend pulled on his hand, forgetting the whole finger thing, Lance let himself be pulled along. This planet... wasn't a planet... this wasn't right... Pod after pod passed. The lights too painfully familiar. Running into Keith's back, Lance span back to face the way they'd come. If they were being attacked by an enemy in a frontal assault, Keith would have released his hand and charged. Behind them, half a dozen withered aliens stood facing them. Lance beginning to feel himself being drawn into their gazes... images of Keith starting to push into his head. Ripping his gaze away, he hit his left hand back against Keith's leg, focusing on the pain and using that to break the lulling spell "Don't look at them!" Keith didn't move behind him. Spinning back, Lance threw his right arm in front of Keith's face to break his line of sight. All at once, Keith let out a sob and fell to his knees "Don't look at them. They show you bad things!" "Lance..." Ignoring the burning in his legs and the way he landed poorly as he dropped to kneel, Lance looped an arm around Keith's chest and pulled him up, aiming the blaster at the knee of the alien in front of them before firing "Lance..." "Keith, keep your head down, we need to move!" "You were... you were bleeding out... you were pregnant and bleeding out... I... you" "Yeah, buddy. I saw you dying... This ship, its Altean. It's not a planet at all. I can hear something in my head... like it's calling out to me" "Oh god... that was..." "Not real" Telling Keith firmly, Lance dragged him forward "I can walk" "Ok, but don't look them in the eye..." Firing and striking blindly, the numbers were overwhelming, leaving them with no choice but to fall back into the first room that was unlocked. Slamming it behind them, Lance kept his back against it. It was strangely reminiscent of the outpost. People trying to kill them, and the while taking cover in the first room they could. Thankfully no one was hacked to pieces, and there weren't any blue canisters either. The space was clearly a lab, with a clear pipe running down to a stopper over a work bench, inside sat a minimal amount of blue shimmering essence. Quintessence. He didn't need to go any closer to know. Coming to his aid, Keith locked the door by shorting the control panel next to it with one the stolen blades. A control panel they both knew from the castle "This place is Altean?!" Lance nodded, pushing off the door to use the momentum to reach the chair near the work bench. Sitting was a horrible idea, his muscles protesting, but he needed a moment "What the hell is going on here?" Why ask him? Lance had no idea either. This place was supposed to have been under Galra control. It was supposed to have been converted after the end of the war to an ethical containment facility. There was nothing ethical about the withered husks that were chasing them. There was nothing ethical about the tube feeding into the lab they were in. There was nothing ethical about the assault on his mind "Lance?" "Give me a tick" "We don't have a tick. What the quiznak is going on here?" "I don't fucking know! So shut up and let me fucking think!" Snapping at Keith filled him with shame, but Keith had honestly asked for it by pushing. He didn't have any answers for him "This is an Altean ship! Those were Altean pods!" "I know!" "Those people..." "Shut up! I know!" "Did you know about this?! About Altean's involvement?!" Lance balked "What?" "Did you know about any of this?" "How the fuck would I know any of this?! I've never been here!" His head was killing him. The yelling felt as if someone was cleaving an axe into his brain